Fascination
by ejectingthecore
Summary: A continuing saga concerning an anonymous female Ensign and Spock. Chapters vary from hard M to T and back.
1. Shuttle

**This is a collaborative story.**

This chapter is written by **TalesFromTheSpockSide**.

Neither of us own anything Star Trek.

**1. Shuttle**

*********************

"Mr. Spock?"

I'm supposed to be running a post-flight check on this shuttlecraft; what's he doing in here? He turns in the pilot's chair, apparently not at all surprised, arms folded, long legs stretched out as if he were in his own living room.

"Yes, Ensign?"

"Sir, I believe this shuttle is scheduled for maintenance. I'm here to run diagnostics on the computer and navigation systems, but if you need to use it - "

"I do have a use for this craft, Ensign, but I see no reason why we cannot both make use of it at the same time."

I'm not sure if I can concentrate on my work if he's within fifty meters. Like so many women on this ship - or in the galaxy! - I find him fascinating, physically and intellectually. Okay, mostly physically. His pale coloring and contrasting black hair and brows, his high cheekbones, the exotic, beautiful ears, slim body and, let's face it, magnificent backside - all gathered together and gliding through the corridors like an alien panther -

I set down my tool kit on a nearby seat. "Yes, sir. Where should I start, so I can stay out of your way?"

"Actually, I believe we can work together on one of the tasks I have in mind."

"Really, sir? What task?"

He stands up, barely clearing the low ceiling of the craft, and presses a contact on the console. The shuttle door slides shut and the windows are covered; the interior lights are on safety mode, dimly amber. In this light his complexion is almost human-normal.

"A task which, I believe, you and I have both contemplated on occasion. One which requires privacy and a certain amount of - discretion." He's standing three meters away but his voice sounds like it's next to my ear. The panther is purring.

"If you're referring to the conversation you overheard in the mess hall, sir - I was just teasing Ensign Truman, I didn't mean anything by it. I'm sorry I acted inappropriately." Not that sorry, says my inner demon.

"Didn't you, Ensign?" He moves a little closer, making certain he doesn't block my path to the exit. "You made reference to sexual practices among non-Terran species. You then mentioned at least two species with which you have enjoyed such practices, and Ensign Truman brought up the subject of Vulcans."

"Yes, sir." I'm blushing - from shame, or from sheer arousal, just thinking about it?

"I believe you expressed a willingness to experiment if an occasion arose to do so." He was within a meter now, looking down at me, not menacingly but almost - curiously? Then I see the gleam in his eyes and realize it's not curiosity, but lust. He must sense something in my body language because he steps back immediately and gestures toward the door.

"It is not locked," he says. "You may leave at any time, although I must insist that you keep this conversation private. This is a personal matter between, I hope, consenting adults."

I look at the door, look at him.

"You're a senior officer. I'm an Ensign."

"I am not in your direct line of command."

"Still. You could make life difficult for me, whether I refuse or cooperate. Sir."

He looks almost approving. "True. However, my intention is to make life more pleasant for both of us, if only temporarily. Much more pleasant. If it will ease your mind, I should tell you that Vulcans do not lie unless their survival is at stake. I promise you, I will speak no word to anyone of anything that occurs within this shuttlecraft, if you will promise the same."

I realize I'm licking my lips. I hear myself say, softly, "Promise?"

He nods. I put down the padd and reach over to activate the lock on the shuttle door. Then I step up to within reach of his arms and tip my head up to look at him and wait.

"Ensign."

"Commander…Spock"

I'm watching his mouth as he speaks my rank, as he regards me thoughtfully as if deciding where to begin. His lower lip particularly is rounded and full, and I can't believe I'm going to have the chance to taste it. I'm practically salivating at the thought.

Then he raises his hand to my face, his eyes still fixed on mine. He answers something in my expression, whispering, "Our minds will not touch; it is not necessary. Only our bodies," and on the last word he brushes my lips with his first two fingers. They open slightly as if to taste him and he traces them slowly, his own mouth open a little. I raise my own hand in the same motion, touching his lips, hot against my fingers, and I hear his breath catch.

"You are a quick study," he murmurs and his fingers slide from my lips to my cheekbones, tracing the lines of my skull, over my forehead, around my eyes, stroking my ears. I imitate the movement and when I reach his ears I lift my other hand to touch them both and this time he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

"Okay?" I whisper and he nods slightly, and his fingers slip down to my jawline, my collarbone above the low-cut uniform. My hands slide down to rest on his chest as I watch his head bend and tilt and his mouth come closer and now it's my turn to catch my breath -

But he only brushes his lips against mine, and I realize his arms are around my waist now, one moving up a little to spread his fingers across my back, the other moving down a little to fit into the small of my back, not demanding, exploring. I also realize my legs are trembling.

"Sir - Spock - " I don't want him to pull away, but if I don't sit down, or lie down, I'm going to fall down. He steps back, precisely, and lowers himself into a nearby seat, arranging me on his lap, my legs dangling on either side of his. I feel his long hands hot on my ass as he pulls me closer atop those muscular thighs.

This is more like it. Our faces are on the same level now and I wind my arms around his neck and run my fingers through his hair, tugging a little just to see what he'll do, and as he brings his lips to mine I can feel something like a smile and hear something like a chuckle. Then his lips are softly rubbing and teasing mine, stroking them, and I open my mouth a little, inviting him in.

"Vulcan hands," he murmurs as he teases, "are among the most sensitive and erogenous areas on our bodies. In humans, it is the mouth which enjoys this distinction. I find both areas equally - fascinating." With that, his tongue flicks over my lips, like butterfly kisses, briefly, then penetrates into my mouth, hot and wet and slow and deliberate. I want to thrust my mouth against his but I make a supreme effort and settle for sliding my tongue forward to taste him as he is tasting me.

I hear a hum in his throat, a satisfied sound, as if appreciative of my following his lead, and he rewards me by sinking his mouth deeper into mine, drinking me in now, his jaw moving as it opens and tilts and devours me.

His hands have not been idle; they have unfastened the neck of my uniform and drawn it down over my shoulders and those burning hands are now stroking my skin, down to just above my breasts, and I hear the almost-chuckle again. He withdraws his mouth from mine and says, "You are missing a required item of Starfleet uniform, Ensign."

"Bras are only required because if we didn't wear them, none of the male crew would ever get anything done," I tell him and arch my back so that my breasts rise under his hands, his sensitive Vulcan hands. He gathers them together, palming and pressing, now lightly, now firmly, until the merest touch on my nipples forces a deep hungry sound from my throat.

He's been watching my face the whole time and now he whispers, "Tell me."

"Tell you?"

"How it feels. I wish to hear your voice as I caress you, the hunger, the desire..."

"Yes," I gasp as his fingers roll and pull at my nipples. "Yes, your hands - so much hotter - so gentle, yet - insistent - you're making my whole body shake, just from your fingers on my breasts - and - I want your mouth there - "

"Tell me - "

"Take my nipple in your mouth," I pant, "and lick, and suck - unh!" as his mouth indeed connects with my nipple and proceeds to lick and suck as requested. He adds some more finger action, his tongue and fingers working the same spot, and the tiny amount of control I had earlier is fading fast as I grab and pull on his hair and moan.

"Yes," he says hoarsely against my skin. "Vocalization - very stimulating - both humans and Vulcans - "

"Tell me, then," I say to him. "Tell me what you want."

"I want to taste you," he growls. "Most intimately."

He doesn't have to spell that out for me. I lean over to unzip my boot, but his hand is already there, pulling off one, then the other, dropping them on the floor. I stand to remove my tights, fling them down next to the boots, pull my panties down from under my skirt. He is reaching for me but for once I'm too fast for him; I pull up his tunic and get hold of his pants, unzipping and pulling them open and stepping back just a little, just out of reach. He takes a deep breath and sits back and shifts and, damn, reaches into his pants and draws out his cock, slowly, almost tenderly, watching my face and looking rather smug.

"Visual input," I manage to say, swallowing hard. "Very effective on human females."

"So I have found," he agrees and, holy crap, pulls his fist up and down, once, then releases himself and draws me to him, to straddle him, not on his lap but standing over it. I look down at him, hands on his shoulders, and feel a sudden pang of gratitude that he is looking up at my face, not just at my body. I lean down to kiss him, gently this time, and his mouth is soft and sweet. Then I feel his erection nudging against my leg and I grin and he looks like he might be about to smile as well.

He spins us around in the pilot's chair and deposits me on the main navigation console, which thankfully is powered down. It's damn chilly on there and I make an "ah!" sound and squirm a bit, and Spock says, "Allow me to warm you," and slips out of the chair to kneel on the floor. He grabs my thighs, lifting and spreading them, pushing up the obscenely short skirt of my uniform until he has a panoramic view of my sex. He takes a moment to breathe in and closes his eyes.

"Tell me," he whispers, and I tell him, between gasps, "I want you to touch me with your mouth, your hands, anything, taste how wet I am for you, plunge in and find my clitoris and fuck it with your tongue..."

He's plunging now, black brows above my blonde mound, his eyes closed because it's all about feeling now, and his lips grope towards my center as I try to keep my balance, because even with his grip on my legs I feel like I'm falling, but maybe that's just lust. Just as his tongue reaches that spot I feel a long hard finger, maybe two, slide into my opening, under his chin, pumping gently, and I arch and fling my head back and once more clutch at his hair, this time screaming as he milks my clit with his mouth.

My head reels. Dimly I am aware that Spock has withdrawn slowly from my sex and is kissing my breasts again. He catches my eye, once I can focus again, and says slyly, "It is fortunate that these craft are well insulated against environmental hazards... and sounds..." I laugh breathlessly and he rises, slowly, to stand between my legs, his hands still hooked under my knees so I'm tilted back against the low console. His swaying cock is about level with my shoulders but when I try to lean forward to kiss it he makes a "uh-uh" sound and pushes his pants down and off one leg, so they are still attached but he can spread his legs wider.

They spread. And spread. And spread, and I watch his thigh muscles tighten as his feet slide and his hips sink until his sex is aiming directly at mine. The shuttle console is lower than standard, like the ceiling, so his ass is less than one meter off the floor as he leans forward. His tongue and his cock enter me at the same time, slowly, almost carefully, balancing. He pulls me down a little so that we are joined snugly and leans his weight against me slightly.

"You will have to hold on to me," he rasps, "in order for me to balance us adequately." I nod, incapable of speech, and as he leans over to nip at my earlobe I feel him begin to rock, not very fast or very deeply but very rhythmically, pulling out only an inch or so and then sinking back into me. I can't believe he can thrust at all in this position. I can't believe he can even stand in this position. I want him to stay in this position, so I hold on to his shoulders and kiss and lick everything I can reach, his neck, his lips, even his eyebrows. When my tongue flicks out over the point of his ear the panther sound returns and he thrusts a little harder and it's not going to take much and my sex is rubbing against his hard body and, oh shit, I'm being fucked on a console by the hottest man in Starfleet, who is now growling and pulling my legs up to get further inside me, pants around his ankle, head down on my shoulder like he's coming down to the wire, and he is and I am and there's a last-moment frenzy of pumping and squirming and grabbing and gasping, and completely unrestrained vocalizing on both our parts.

My legs wrap around his waist and his arms come swiftly up to brace himself against the console as he nuzzles my neck and I stroke his hair.

"Tell me," I whisper and he whispers back, "Extraordinary."

"Verbal feedback," I say with a grin. "Always welcome."

He lifts his head to kiss me, at the same time gently drawing my uniform back up over my shoulders. As he steps back to collect his clothing I slide down off the console; I will never, ever run another diagnostic without thinking about this experience. The interior of the shuttle smells of sweat and sex. I turn to pick up my tights and panties and encounter his broad chest and long arms; he wraps around me and kisses me deeply one more time. "Thank you," I murmur as he slowly releases me.

Spock touches my face with his palm and the almost-smile flickers.

"Carry on, Ensign."


	2. Engineering

**This is a collaborative story.**

This chapter is written by **TalesFromTheSpockSide**.

Neither of us own anything Star Trek.

**2. Engineering**

*********************

One evening I'm working down in Main Engineering, replacing dilithium fuses in the aft thruster components, and I'm loving being in pants instead of those sticky, itchy tights. My sleeves are rolled up and I'm getting grubby, the way I like to work. I know that when I look in the mirror I'll laugh at the grime and dust and then sink into a luxuriously hot bath.

Where I will, most likely, relive the shuttle incident with Mr. Spock. Over and over. If I never get to touch that man again I will still never get tired of using the memory to pleasure myself.

I wonder if it ever crosses his mind at all.

Then a spark zaps the back of my hand and I remind myself to pay attention to my work. Safety first, blah blah blah…

A hand comes from nowhere to stroke the spot where the spark landed.

"Are you all right, Ensign?" His voice makes my spine vibrate. I catch my breath but otherwise I don't move as his fingers lace between mine and I feel his mouth moving next to my ear. "Your mind is not on your work."

"No," I murmur, "it isn't."

"What is on your mind, Ensign?"

I decide not to answer on the grounds that I might incriminate myself. Pick up an electrospanner and move over to the next console. I have a straight line of sight, albeit distant, of the department's central hub; there are lots of conduits and consoles in between. A soft tread follows me and I see, out of the corner of my eye, a tall blue-clad figure moving casually to my side.

"Did you need something, sir?"

I can almost hear the eyebrow rising. "I do, Ensign, but first I would like to ask whether you have any - desire to continue the study we discussed the last time we met."

"I do, sir. Shall I assume that's also your _desire_?" I turn my head and look him in the eye, which is only inches away. He nods, slowly, and adds, "Always with the understanding that it may end at any time."

I nod also and turn back to the console, using a sonic screwdriver to remove the face. "My shift is over in half an hour, Commander. Obviously you know where to find me - you tracked me down here in the depths." My smile feels just a little smug. He came looking for me. Again.

"I told Mr. Kyle that I would be observing your work," is his reply. "And I intend to do so, until the end of your shift, with your permission, of course."

"Of course." He wants to observe, I'll give him something to observe, I think, and for once I regret the pants as I lean far, far up to reach the screws at the top of the console. That skirt would provide just the right view from here…

Apparently the view from where he stands is just fine; I hear a sigh and hold the pose for a moment, then slide slowly down off my toes. And tug my tunic back down over the waistline of the pants. I busy myself with examining the innards of the console, while sensing his approach. I feel my tunic being lifted from behind, a warm hand sliding up under it, stroking slow circles on my lower back, teasing the waistband of my pants.

"Have you had any success with - " He goes off on some technical tangent, to which I answer mechanically; my senses are centered around that hand, and the heat I can feel emanating from his body as he stands beside me.

"Perhaps you could show me the procedure for removing the coupling from this array," he murmurs. To anyone observing, I am standing behind a console which conceals me from the waist down, and Spock is standing slightly behind and beside me, leaning over my shoulder as if giving me directions.

To anyone standing behind us…

His hand has crept beneath the waistband to stroke and squeeze my backside, drawing circles with his fingers across my buttocks. His face is slightly flushed and I'm sure I'm as red as a Bolian beet. My heart has begun to pound already. He's not going to wait until shift end.

"This is a live element, sir," I tell him. "I'm not responsible for the result if you insist on making contact with it."

The silky Vulcan almost-chuckle sinks into my ear. "Understood."

With one hand I look busy at the console, while the other slides down to unzip my pants, just enough to allow some room for his hand to move. And it does, pulling up for a moment, then sliding down my backside again, this time inside my panties, against my skin, palming and caressing.

My buttocks tighten in his grip, which is causing my labia to rub against each other, hungry to feel him, any part of him, in my dark wet center.

I'm panting now and I can feel his hardness against my hip. My screwdriver is in my hand but I'm not working with it; my eyes are fixed on the upper part of the console and my hands are braced against the frame.

"I have to - let me replace the face," I gasp; his hand has spread to enclose all of my ass in his firm grip, "and reset it, then it'll be safe to proceed."

"Allow me." He takes the screwdriver so I can use both hands to lift the panel face into position, then he replaces the screws with one hand and tightens them as well. The panel face is reflective and now I can see my own face, accompanied by a paler one framed with black hair and centered in black brows and brown eyes. He looks steadily at my reflection and his lips open slightly.

"What is the next procedure, Ensign?" he breathes; his fingers are now slipping between my buttocks, past my anus, rubbing gently over the perineum.

"Um, resetting the control. The contact is a little tough to reach when you're as short as I am."

"I believe this is the location?"

As his left hand reaches up to press the reset, his right plunges deeply into my panties and between my legs, thrusting confidently and accurately into my clit. I have to clench my teeth to contain a moan.

"Yesssss. Yes, sir. That's it."

Another chuckle. "Yet the panel must be activated in order to complete the sequence."

"Correct."

With that he brings his left hand down to press against my abdomen, where my muscles are tensing and shaking, and his right hand pushes unbelievably further in, one finger teasing my clit as another insinuates into my opening. I have to bow my head as if rummaging for a tool, but really I'm trying to hide the inevitable orgasmic grimace that I can feel rising to my face. My climax is deep and hard but absolutely silent. I'm fervently glad his hands are holding me up.

"Most impressive," he says thickly. "Your performance under pressure is admirable. You have almost a Vulcan quality of control."

"Thank you," I gasp. "Sir."

I turn as if to speak to him face to face. His eyes are dilated and his lips are wet. It would be fatal to lean up and seize his lips with mine, in this practically public area. Instead I reach down and unzip his pants and shove my hand inside his shorts, connecting immediately with hot hard flesh and enjoying his reaction, which is to breathe in sharply and grip my wrist.

"I believe I can assist you in this adjustment, Ensign."

He spins me around to face the console again, pulling the back of my pants down to just below my butt and fumbling with his own; I can hear the fabric rustle. His mouth is close to my ear again as he leans slightly aside, again as if observing, and then I feel that hot flesh hard against my bare bottom, pressing and sliding and nestling between my cheeks. It's a perfect fit.

His hands are on my hips, helping steady me as he rocks and rubs. Just as before, his strokes are shallow but strong and even when not inside me his shaft is satisfyingly thick and hot. I push my ass back against him and he gasps through his teeth, a low grunt, and I feel his hand move to cover his ejaculation so it won't spill onto my uniform. Not where anyone can see, anyway; he smoothes his palm down between my pants and panties, smearing his come on the inside of my clothes as if marking them.

"I see that you have already mastered this procedure," he husks as we both fasten our clothes, keeping an eye on the Engineering hub, where the shift is changing.

"I have many qualifications in the implementation of Engineering tools and techniques," I assure him, turning to face him solemnly. "Perhaps you would like further demonstration of my skills. Sir."

The eyebrow, damn, how can he express such lust with one small hairy appendage?

"Perhaps, Ensign. I look forward to becoming better acquainted with your - skills."

"Thank you, sir."

Bath time is going to be very, very enjoyable tonight.


	3. Access Tube

**This is a collaborative story.**

This chapter is written by **ejectingthecore**.

None of us own anything Star Trek.

**3. Access Tube**

I don't need to crawl around in engineering today. I'm scheduled to work on lots of backed up paperwork and will spend the day sitting at consoles, so I wear my skirt and tall boots that always make me feel sexy. As I draw the boots on, I fantasize about Mr. Spock taking them back off, unzipping them with his teeth. I'd run my hands through his silky hair, follow the curve of his ear with my finger, while his head moved down the length of my boot. Kneeling before me, his deep voice would mutter into my leg, his long fingers closing around my calf.

I pull myself together and stop pointlessly daydreaming about him. Every woman on the ship would like to get him on his knees. I need to forget about it and go to work.

Unexpectedly, I'm dispatched to do some maintenance, checking the matter-antimatter fuel flow gauges. They're at the very end of a horizontal access tube--a closed tunnel with one way in and that same way back out. I'm not keen on letting every engineer on the ship look up my skirt, so I enter the tube awkwardly, feet first, and shimmy down to the end. I'm all the way inside, my feet against the closed, far back wall. That's where he finds me.

"Ensign." I am jolted by his voice echoing through the narrow chamber. The air shifts as I become aware he's crawling in after me. I hear the only access port clang shut. I turn my head as far around as I can and see Spock advancing on me on hands and knees. I take a good look and savor the sight of his lean body prowling toward me.

"Here to inspect my work again, Commander?" Somewhere along the way, _Commander_ and _Ensign_ have gone beyond being ranks and now seem almost like affectionate nicknames.

"You are often remiss," he hisses. "I need to pay close attention to your performance." His voice nearly melts my spanner.

"Chief Engineer Scott might be a more suitable inspector, no?"

"If that is whom you'd prefer." He keeps coming toward me.

I laugh. "_No sir_."

"Then I take it you are not averse to me crawling farther into this access tube?" Suddenly it feels very close and my temperature rises.

It becomes difficult to breathe out just two words. "Crawl, please."

He has, of course like anyone would, entered the tube head first. So when he slides up next to me he's able to rest his head on the spot where my very short skirt ends and my legs begin. He takes a deep breath and nuzzles his face between my thighs. I melt and turn toward his body, and I find my face meeting the fastenings of his pants. I can suddenly see the logic in his following me here.

He pushes my skirt up the few centimeters needed to get at my tights. He hooks his fingers around them and yanks them down all the way to my boots. Far enough to be sure he can spread my thighs and get the access he wants. With one hand he pushes against my top knee, my legs open as far as my tights will allow, and I lodge the boot of my top leg against the back wall. I'm stuck in this close space, open for him, right in his face. My desire rises fast, making my labia swell. I hear his signature chuckle again, an amused and pleased sound.

And then he reaches for me. He does not flick or flirtingly run his tongue around my labia or clit. He takes me entirely at once in a passionate open-mouthed kiss. His satin lips close around me, his tongue plunges inside. I gasp and buck my hips toward his mouth. He opens and closes his lips around me again and again, allowing his tongue to explore me as he would his lover's mouth.

_My_ mouth. I _am_ Spock's lover. I am incredulous, grateful, immensely turned on. Just the thought of being _his _breaks my vocal control, and I let out a soft, subdued whine. It's not loud enough to be heard outside the hatch, and even so it will mingle with the sounds of the engine room.

The tube is narrow, our backs touching the walls. I pull my arm awkwardly out from under me and wrap it around the back of his thighs. I use my upper hand to touch him and find him obscenely hard. It obviously pleases him to please me. I take him into my hand and through layers of fabric I squeeze him gently. He moans into me and begins to move his tongue more repetitively in and out, driving me wild. I have only a few minutes of voluntary movement left, and I hurry to accomplish the important task of getting into his pants.

I have not tasted him before.

I run my tongue up his hard shaft, experimenting with his taste and texture, and he pushes toward me, wanting my whole mouth. I push his pants down out of the way. I swirl my tongue around the tip of his considerable penis and slowly begin to take it in. It stretches my lips and they start to tingle. He joins me in the controlled whining and humming we allow ourselves in this closed-off, but public, location. He rocks back and forth into my mouth, and I meet him, opening my mouth farther each time until I have as much of him as I can take. He's touching the back of my throat, and I gasp for air as he moves out then plunges back in. All the while continuing his delicious kissing of my labia, now dragging his rough tongue up and down and all over me. We're both bucking into each other.

All my senses are engaged. My hands can feel the back of his strong, slim thighs, my booted feet are braced and I can feel the hard metal and thrumming of the ship, feel his tongue rasping and plunging, the soft but unmistakable points of his ears against my inner thighs, the silky hardness of him in my mouth, his clean, masculine smell, the smell of leather boots, the sound and vibration of his breathing into me. Everything mingles and my body resonates with it all, a rising and rising sensation building inside. The sensation grows with the rumbling of the ship's engines, until it reaches a painful crescendo, then I crash into contracting relief and bliss. For one pure moment, the world outside this place is meaningless. My eyes close in exhaustion and supplication, and my mouth goes slack, giving him even more room to pound into it.

I steal moments between his thrusts to swirl my tongue, lap at him, breathe. I can feel him getting even harder and he starts thrusting faster and faster. Fucking my mouth. My orgasm is still clenching inside me, and already I'm getting aroused again by his penetration.

He clamps down on a shout by biting my thigh, and I experience a strangely erotic feeling knowing I've nearly made him lose control of his voice. He silently comes into me, pulsing, pushing a few extra times to empty himself into and onto me. He murmurs into my thigh. Our heads both slump onto one another, spent.

Then he leaves me. Zips himself up quickly and crawls backwards out of the access tube without a word, leaving me with my tights down, thighs wet, and lips tingling. It is an aggressive move leaving so quickly and silently, calculated to make me want him more. I hate that it works so thoroughly. As I pull up my tights I feel utterly and deliciously debauched.


	4. Decon Chamber

**This is a collaborative story.**

This chapter is written by **TalesFromTheSpockSide**.

None of us own anything Star Trek.

****************************************

**4. Decon Chamber**

"Name the time and place," he said, after our last encounter. That put me in charge for a change; the last couple of times - hell, every time! - he had deliberately placed himself in my path, tracking down my whereabouts. The perks of rank, I thought.

Well, I would make him wait for it this time. I only hoped he wouldn't take the delay as disinterest and find another outlet for his apparently thriving libido. This would take some care.

These and other musings kept me going for the next two weeks. It was busy; we had new equipment and software for a lot of Engineering, and as a lowly crewmember I had a lot of testing and tweaking to do. Today it was the decontamination units on deck twenty, just above Engineering. I dutifully arrived there and set up the test parameters, using the command console for the two-person unit. The smaller unit to the side was also fitted with a sonic and standard water shower, but that wasn't on my duty roster.

I put in the command for the console to begin a test run, but it didn't respond. Tried it again. No response. All the telltales were green; power was uninterrupted. As far as the command console knew, the chamber should have been cycling normally.

"Somebody forgot to plug something back in," I grumbled to myself, stepping around to enter the decon chamber. "They always do. Software engineers."

As I squatted to check the coupling inside the chamber, I heard a footstep and turned my head to see, once again, Commander Spock. I rose and stood at attention per regulations, but I was annoyed. Then I was amused. How could I be annoyed at someone - a senior officer, yet - who kept coming back for more?

His face was like stone, however. "Ensign," he said. "I have come to speak to you about a disciplinary issue."

"Sir?" I was surprised. Except for clandestine coupling with said senior officer, I was strictly a by-the-rules kind of person. What had I done? I moved toward the chamber exit, but Spock's fingers flew over the console and the automated computer announced that the chamber was now sealed, the facility was sealed, and only command authorization could override it. The first time we met on the shuttle, he'd given me a way out; this time he had me caged. I felt a surge of apprehension.

Spock walked slowly over to where I could see him through the transparent wall of the chamber. He stood between the larger space where I was entrapped and the smaller, also transparent shower unit, and he spoke through the intercom.

"You owe me a report, Ensign. When last we met, I gave you the option of determining a time and date for our discussion of that report. You have not responded."

"Sir, I was going to – "

His hand, the elegantly fingered appendage which had already pleasured me on more than one occasion, made a cutting motion and I fell silent. He spoke again.

"As you have been dilatory, I have been forced to deal with matters myself." He turned away and I watched as he toed off his boots, placing them on a bench provided for this function. He sat and removed his socks, continuing the conversation.

"As you may be aware, Vulcans do not require sexual contact per se. Our tensions may be easily dealt with, through meditation, physical exertion, and various other methods. My preference has generally been for sexual activity." He stood and drew off his tunic, folding it neatly. "This is made even more feasible by the emotional need of other species for sexual contact. Particularly humans." He came closer to the transparency and put his hand on his fly. By now I was aching to touch him.

"Let me help you", I whispered and got the eyebrow.

"You made an agreement to help me two weeks ago," he said, but his eyes were sly rather than stern. His fingers pulled the zipper down. "Your offer is overdue. I will have to take matters into my own hands."

I had a faint inkling of what he was going to do. My mouth was watering as he held my gaze and pushed his trousers down and off, folded them, laid them on top of his pile of clothes, and reached back to turn on the shower. He then stretched a few times and turned his back on me and slowly slid his briefs down over his tight ass and left them on the pile as well. He was only three or four meters away as he stepped under the hot water and let it start to soak his pale skin.

In moments he was dripping wet; he turned off the water supply and took a handful of soap from the dispenser. Broad palms and long fingers spread the lather all over, in his hair, over his back, arms, buttocks, legs. Then he turned and, with another handful of soap, slathered his chest and flat stomach and hipbones. I heard a faint moan and realized it was mine.

Spock turned the water back on to rinse. It rained down on his black crown and he stood with head bowed and soap running off his body, closing his eyes in enjoyment of the heat. Rinsing off the soap, he brought his hands up to drag his fingers through his chest hair and across his stiff nipples. To many humans nipples were feminine, but not to me; right now I was aching to touch and taste them. My thighs were getting slick and my hands crept up to touch my own breasts through my uniform.

He saw this and, looking up from under streaming brows, his eyes dilated even more. His hands both slid down to cup his sex, his penis hardening and flushed green under the hot water. His fingers curled around the shaft, bringing it up to a vertical position, and he stood gripping himself, his breath coming faster. His other hand was fondling his testicles.

"Spock," I moaned again and shoved my hand up under my skirt, to massage my mound. Hot as I was, it wasn't going to be enough. He saw what I was up to and quickened the pace, fist stroking firmly, the head appearing as he pushed down, water running down his back and down his legs as he spread them wider. His eyes came up again to burn into mine and my hands flagged in their search to stimulate myself.

"You see?" he said hoarsely. "You see what you have done to me." His hand was pounding at his cock, his hips thrusting against his own grip. Just as I pressed my body against the glass, furious at not being able to touch him, he let out a sharp, short cry, another, and fell back against the wall of the shower, his face turned up to the deluge, his semen spurting up over his body only to be washed away.

I had not come. I didn't want to do it now, myself; it would be like admitting defeat. He turned off the water and straightened, shakily, reaching for a towel, which he wrapped around his waist. He stepped out and came over to within inches of the glass where I stood glaring at him.

"Delayed gratification can be quite titillating," he said, still panting a little. "However, I would ask that we do not take the concept too far; that would defeat the purpose of our ongoing - discussions. The choice is yours, Ensign."

The wheels in my mind began to turn as he dressed and entered a code on the command console. "It is on a timed sequence," he told me. "This facility is now unlocked. The chamber you are in will be unlocked in five minutes." He looked at me for a long moment, then seemed to shrug as if giving up. I licked my lips and made up my mind.

"Shuttle bay ten," I spoke up. "Three nights from tonight, at 2100 hours. Same place as before." Did his eyes flash?

"Acknowledged," he said, turned, and left.


	5. Hypertied

**This is a collaborative story.**

This chapter is written by **ejectingthecore**.

Neither of us own anything Star Trek.

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**5. Hypertied**

I've asked him to meet me in the same shuttle for another "diagnostic." What he did to me in the Decon Chamber was cruel. Erotic as hell—an experience I'll use while pleasuring myself for the rest of my life—but cruel. I'll never let him know how much it turned me on. I'm angry about how he played me, how he made me yearn and left me unable to touch or even run after him. I'm pissed off about his arrogance and assumptions. And more aroused than ever. I have a plan to make him pay. Dearly.

He arrives not a moment late and stoops to enter the shuttle. I am ready for him, with my short uniform and boots on, but no tights. And ready with some other items I'm going to need.

Once he's inside I waste no time in locking the shuttle down, windows, doors, everything. He prowls to the pilot's seat and stretches out in it, his long legs straight, taking over more than half the width of the shuttle. I nearly lose my breath at their elegance and substance, but I focus. He crosses his arms and raises both eyebrows as if to say "Well?"

I tell him our last encounter left me with lingering questions about Vulcans' response to types of stimulation we have not yet explored. He looks smug, probably reliving our last encounter and his dominance over me. I walk slowly over to him, slide onto his lap, and dive straight for his ear with my tongue. He growls low in his chest and his arms come up behind me, hard and warm.

"Sir…" I drawl out. "To explore the way I'd like, I need you to take off your pants."

His eyes sparkle, and this time I am _sure_ he chuckles. I stand and back away from him to give myself an excellent view while I wait for him to comply. He drops his pants in no time. They pool around his boots.

"Sit down," I tell him. I drop to the floor and crawl to him, slowly pull his boots and socks off, pull his pants all the way off and toss them aside, then run my hands up his legs. When I reach his thighs, I pull myself up until I am staring directly at his beginning erection. "Lean back, be comfortable." I make it sound like an invitation, but actually it's critical to my purposes. I need him at the perfect angle.

"Tell me what you want." My breath tickles his sex and it moves to seek out my mouth. But I'm not giving.

His hands grip the arms of the seat so slightly it would be difficult for anyone else to notice. Anyone but me, his lover, a connosieur of his minute grips, grinds, and growls. "I wish for you to taste _me_ this time."

"I bet you do."

His eyebrows-both of them-shoot up.

I stand and back away from him, and I reach into my tool case. I whip out three long nylon cords with ratchet buckles, and smack them against my palm. His eyes are still full of mirth, and he cocks his head to one side. "What are those?"

"Ah, I forgot you work with delicate science equipment." I say with a smirk, keeping up a seductive voice while I describe the material. "You're not familiar with Hyperties. We use them in Engineering. They're like climbing equipment but with a diburnium core, built to handle stress and tension. " I try to imbue the words _stress_ and _tension_ with his own signature method of growling out the mundane.

"I see," he flirts. "What are they for?"

"They're for you."

And I advance on him.

I falter internally. What the hell am I doing? But oh it will be fun to conquer his control, and to taste him all I want. I make sure he's lying back far in the chair with his behind scooted forward, because it's the only way this will work. And if it doesn't work, this encounter will end very, very badly, resulting in the complete opposite of arousal.

He's positioned well.

I take one of his wrists, wrap the cord around it and snug it tight. I slide on a second ratchet head, wrap the cord around his knee and pull it tight, forcing his leg and wrist together. "You can't get out of this. It's strong enough to hold even you. Do you want me to continue?" Oh yes, he says he does, he's intrigued and not afraid. I tell him a word he can use to make me stop. He smiles subtly and shakes his head, as if to say anything I can do to him won't require such a word. I hope it doesn't. I want him to love this as much as I will.

As I work, I explain "These silly shuttle seats leave no points for attachment. So I have to just attach you…to you." He swallows nearly imperceptibly harder than usual, and I savor this first tiny victory in my pursuit for justice. And more physical forms of satisfaction.

"I'll need uninterrupted access to parts of your body I want to...explore." I work on his other arm and leg in the same fashion. We've been flirting. Now I look at him gravely and the mood changes palpably when I speak. "You will give me that access, any way I want it." It becomes quiet, and he makes a more discernible swallowing sound. His knees are each attatched to his elbows, but so far that does nothing very useful. I circle around the back of his seat and slip a third cord to gather both his elbows behind the chair. He says, with a flick of his head to indicate his arms and legs, "I fail to see how this arrangement will provide you with greater access to the body parts you seek."

"That's because I'm not _finished_ with you." And with that I tighten the cord I'm holding, bringing his elbows sharply together behind his back. His wrists fly away from one another, and with his wrists, go his legs. Suddenly I have the best access in the galaxy, and what I want is right there, pointing at me. I smile wickedly at him, and he looks at me with a face striving for calm and coolness, but betraying a lost, drowning look of desire and a bit of fear. It worked. My crusade to take control is underway. His eyes say _Be kind_. _And soon._

I plan to be kind, but not soon, not by a long shot. I look him over, savoring him. Simply having his legs spread wide is making him harder. His penis is pointing toward me, twitching and moving to seek friction and slowly rising to a full erection. With no control over it, and no way to touch and assist himself, he can only drop his head to look at himself in embarrassment. But also pleasure. He raises his head to smirk at me as his cock rises higher and harder.

All I need to do now is drop to the floor and start teasing him. First with my breath. Careful not to touch him, I start exhaling soft and warm on his penis. It continues to seek out my mouth, but I won't let it touch me. He's working on his control, so far keeping pace with my efforts to break it. He lets out low groans of casual enjoyment, as if this pleasurable activity happens every day. He pulls good-naturedly, softly on his bonds, as if to get the feel of them but not try to escape.

"No moving." I command him.

I start to ghost my fingers up and down his length, making the slightest contact that could still be classified as touching. He moves his hips toward me. I look up at him, shake my head and chide him with a sparkle in my eyes. "Uh, uh. No movement. Stay still or I'll have to do something neither of us will like." He closes his eyes and allows the first inkling of painful yearning show.

I get back to it. "Now that you've interrupted me, I have to start again." He whines softly, still unwilling to give himself up. So I begin again with my breath. He can't help but buck his hips at me, so I chide him again. "Bad boy, Commander." The name is suddenly a joke. "I'm sorry but two interruptions, that's the limit. I'm going to go work on this diagnostic now. _Don't. Move._" He is tied all over and spread wide for me. And I ignore him completely while I work at the other end of the shuttle. I leave him able to see me, but not look right at me. Ignored, he is in pain with yearning and humiliation, but he's gotten the idea that it gets worse if he doesn't comply, so he stays still and quiet for the few minutes it takes me to complete what I'm doing—a small amount of time for me, but for him it must feel like an eternity.

I return to him and his eyes are pleading. Super points for me, making my Vulcan beg, even with just his eyes.

I drop to my knees and touch him ever so lightly again. I finally squeeze him, giving him the smallest taste of the friction he desires. I grab his balls and he shoots come all over both of us. It's my turn to raise an eyebrow, and he hangs his head. I made him lose control of his orgasm. I gather some come with a finger and use it like lip gloss.

He is still rock hard. "You want me to taste you, right?"

He groans and nods.

"I like it hard. I want to make sure you're really, really hard before I do it." His whine is higher pitched and it's making me hot, my labia engorged. I want to get down on the floor and lick and suck while I grind myself into my own heels, but I hold off.

I offer two of my fingers to his mouth. "Wet them." He opens his mouth eagerly and I insert both fingers, sliding them around to make sure they're wet. Then I raise one booted leg up on the chair giving him nearly as perfect a view as I have. And with the fingers he's wet for me, I reach down and begin to touch myself.

"You can move all you want now."

Instantly he rages against the bonds, his arms and legs bucking and his face a grimace, the sound coming from him a series of grunts and growls. The chair sounds like it might crack, and I realize it's a real possibility. His strength—and my conquering it—make me even wetter. I circle my fingers for a short but delicious while, then place one, then two inside myself. His head and mouth move pointlessly toward me, his hips buck and his penis searches for nothing. I return to my clit and move slowly the way I like it. He's straining, violent and crazed, but the bonds are inescapable. His cries are music to my ears. The victory, and my slippery fingers pushing and circling myself, make me come hard with a hoarse bark and he closes his eyes and takes in the sound of my climax.

I drop to my knees again and he calms down. Perhaps hoping I will finally relieve him with my tongue. And I do. I give him the friction and wetness he needs with a long lick, then place the tip of his penis in my mouth, and he cries out. I relax my mouth and take in as much of him as I can, then slowly move up and down.

It does not take long. He climaxes violently and I swallow as much as I can, looking up to show him his come dribbling onto my chin. He watches with an unreadable expression, eyes either full of desire or fury. Maybe both.

Either way, I have to let him go. I unfasten the bond behind his back and he moves and loosens his shoulders, which must have been in considerable pain. While I am behind the chair I lean in and kiss his neck, running my tongue along the taut muscles there. He jerks away at first, then sighs and leans into my mouth, his eyes closed, head beginning to turn toward me. I come around the chair to undo the restraints holding his left leg and wrist. His shoulders, arms, legs are sore, and he stretches his leg out to reveal its incredible length. I dip my head and kiss the marks, the beginnings of dark green bruises where the restraints pushed into his skin. I gently release his other leg and wrist. He sighs into the chair with both legs stretched fully out and both wrists hanging limply. I lick and kiss the marks on his right leg, right wrist. I'm afraid he might reject me now, or attack me, but instead he sighs deeply and rumbles "mmmmm".

I climb gently onto his lap, and without opening his eyes his mouth finds mine and he kisses me deeply, making me dizzy with relief and sensual pleasure. I took a huge gamble, and now he belongs to me like he did not before. I feel his tongue slide against mine. His hands, now free to do whatever they wish, choose to hold my head tight so the kiss won't end.


	6. Bed

**This is a collaborative story.**

This chapter is written by **TalesFromTheSpockSide.**

Neither of us own anything Star Trek.

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**6. Bed**

I present myself at his door, at his request; it's the first time I've been to his quarters. The door opens and he is standing there, once again in black t-shirt and trousers and socks, comfortable in his own home.

"Please, come in," he says and I do, looking around curiously. He goes on, "Although meeting in various parts of the ship has certainly been enjoyable, I thought a change of venue might be welcome."

"You mean we get to pleasure each other in a _bed_?" His mouth quirks at my exaggerated disbelief and he says, "A novel concept, but acceptable, I trust."

He picks me up and sit on the sofa with me on his lap. I curl my legs up and nuzzle his neck; he is so warm. I feel him shift me back in his embrace, my chin tipped up so he can kiss his way up my throat, to my ear, and I turn my head as his lips seek mine. His mouth is soft and lazy, and I feel like I could drink his kiss all night. I run my fingers into the hair at his temples and trace the outline of his ears, and he makes a sound like a sigh into the kiss.

"Will you stay?" he murmurs. This is unusual; our trysts _have_ taken place in various locations about the ship, but never in either of our quarters and never all night. I know better than to question his judgment, though, and besides, I want him all night. I nod, and he tips me back again and pours kisses all over my face, my neck, down my shoulder to where the tunic gets in the way.

I sit up straight and pull the tunic off and he smiles, actually smiles, just a little.

"Still flaunting regulations, Yeoman?" He is referring to the fact that I rarely wear a brassiere, and that there is none in evidence this evening either.

"Flaunting, Commander?" I lean back in his arms and stretch, arching my back so that my breasts rise under his face. His eyes get that dilated, burning look I have come to know and he leans down, holding me tightly, and brushes his open mouth over each nipple. I gasp and arch, involuntarily this time, and my hands clutch at his shoulders.

His shining head moves as his tongue comes out to flick those nipples, alternating in a rhythm that shows no sign of relenting. I squirm in his arms but he holds me harder, immobile except for my head, which is raised up to watch him tormenting me with his mouth. He looks up from his ministrations and tells me, "You are beautiful."

"You make me feel beautiful," I gasp. "Spock."

He buries his face between my breasts, nuzzling, nipping, and I curl my arms around his head, his hair like satin against my skin. "Please," I whisper. "I feel like I'm falling. We need the bed."

"As you wish." He lifts and carries me into his bedroom. It smells of incense and leather; why leather? I catch sight of two pairs of immaculately polished boots in one corner and flash on visions of them on the bridge, his ankles crossed under his chair as he leans forward, or striding down the corridor at the end of those long sinuous legs. We're going to have to do this with just our boots on some time...

He lays me down and stretches over me, still fully clothed, sprawling between my legs and rubbing his cheek against my stomach. He looks up and lifts an eyebrow, then ducks his head again to launch a surprise attack on my navel with his tongue and fingers, thrusting and tickling and sucking gently. The jolt of lust that speeds from that spot goes directly to my clitoris; I can feel my pulse throbbing between my legs as it never has before.

Spock looks up again with a smug expression.

"Your expression is very gratifying," he says in his deepest, growliest tone. "I believe you have never experienced that sensation before."

I shake my head, unable to speak, wishing he would take the mouth that is talking and plunge it between my legs, find that aching spot, give me release. Instead I get an equally deep chuckle, and his fingers slide around to knead my buttocks, pushing and spreading them and shifting down to watch closely as I try to move my thighs together.

"There is no rush," he whispers and I moan. "A delightful sound," he adds and I moan again. I can hardly help it. "Tell me," he urges me, as he did the first time, wanting to hear my voice describing the exquisite rise of desire overtaking my whole body.

"Your hands," I tell him. "So warm, so strong, but so gentle - I love the feel of them stroking my skin, the taste of your fingers...Your voice, in my ear, even over the comm - like purring - it makes me think of feeling it vibrate when I lay my head on your chest."

He lays his head on my stomach again, his hands now caressing my thighs, but alas, not the insides of them.

"And I watch you walk," I go on, "every chance I get, and I think about what your butt looks like under that uniform, what a tight ass you have, and how I want to get my hands on it. My teeth on it."

It's his turn to moan; his hips shift against the bed. I push at his shoulders; he takes the hint and rolls over on his back, and I scoot down and stand up and strip off my panties and skirt, then kneel between his legs and run my hands up and down his trouser legs, rubbing the fabric over sensitive skin, watching as the front of them becomes taut over his erection.

I take my hands now and slip them under his shirt to rub his stomach, moving lower against his waistband to smooth over the line of black hair leading to his treasure. I push his shirt up and he leans up to pull it off, and as his arms are busy with that I unfasten his pants, back quickly off the bed, and pull on the waistband of his pants and briefs, so that within seconds he's completely nude.

Spock lies there, raised up on his elbows, his long lean body fully extended on the bed, his cock fully extended on his belly, stirring, pulsing. And he smiles again and holds out his hand, which I take, and I lie on my back with him beside me and that same hand hot on my skin.

He smoothes his palm over my body, starting at my neck and caressing downward, taking time to stroke my arms and hands, then returning to rub my breasts gently, slowly. His mouth hovers near mine so that I can reach for his kiss whenever I want, which is often, between my gasps and moans and his murmured encouragement.

"Yes...your skin...so sensitive, so soft..." His fingers tease delicately at my navel again. "You feel this, deep down, aching for release..." Sliding over my hips and around to caress my behind. "I wanted to touch you here for some time...watching you...anticipating my hands here, lifting you against me, your legs wrapped around me..."

He breaks off and presses his cheek against mine. I slip one arm around his neck, his shoulders hard under my hand, and pull him in for a deep, drowning kiss. His hand comes back up to cup my face and his tongue works my mouth urgently. I feel his hardness on my thigh and wrap my leg around him so he can rub against my abdomen. I can feel his scrotum soft against my mound.

I dip two fingers into my sex and draw them out, slick, to stroke my juices over the head of his cock. A soft cry escapes him and his body clenches, his arms hard around me, his mouth still latched on to mine.

"Come on," I whisper. "Take it. Take me."

Another sound from deep within him, something like a groan, a growl. Then he moves on top of me and I bathe in the sheer pleasure of his body on mine; his hand guides his manhood into my sex, so wet he nearly slips out and I giggle, and he looks down at me with smiling eyes and slides in, deeply, filling me.

"You are beautiful," he whispers again. He begins to move, and I can see his shoulders tensing and relaxing as he thrusts, not hard but firmly, and his ass tightens under the soles of my feet as I wrap my legs around him. His mouth is half open and his eyes cling to mine; his pace increases, falters, resumes more forcefully, and I watch his face contort in a spasm of ecstasy as his orgasm washes through him and a deep, satisfied groan comes from that soft mouth.

Even as his body recovers his hands are busy, cradling my head as he covers it with kisses, sliding out of me, down, his hands engulfing my breasts, thumbs making hard circles on my nipples. It's my turn to groan and shove my body against his mouth as it travels over my skin.

He's lying between my legs again, bare skin on skin, his hair awry as he looks up at me with a sly, boyish expression, and it's just like the first time a boy ever went down on me, teasing tongue, lips, fingers, trying this or that angle or stroke to see what will make me writhe. Aching for something t hold on to, my hands come up to stroke my breasts, continuing the torment he started, and he makes a sound like approval, his mouth full of my soft flesh.

I can hardly stand another moment; I'm gasping his name, louder, and he's sucking mercilessly at my clit as his fingers push deep into my vagina, curling and twisting and coming out soaked with my fluid. His next motion is one I've never experienced in my life, one of his long digits thrusts partway into my anus, pumping, another fully in my vagina, and I'm screaming and bucking and sobbing and grabbing at his hair, overcome, broken. As he pulls his hands and mouth away from me I collapse, heaving, and burst into tears.

Spock disappears briefly; I hear him washing his hands and he brings a warm damp cloth to bathe my face. When he's done I'm still shaking and he slides back into bed with me and envelops me completely in his arms and the curve of his body against my back.

Finally I manage to relax and I pull his arm closer around me and kiss his palm and close his fingers over the kiss, then turn so my head lies on his chest; I feel his voice as he speaks.

"I believe that a change in our arrangement may be in order." His mouth caresses my neck. "I have greatly enjoyed being your lover, these few weeks."

I'm confused; is he calling it all off in spite of acknowledging that we're lovers? Then, as before, it hits me: he said that _he_ was _my_ lover. Spock, Vulcan, brilliant scientist, second in command of Enterprise, and again, the hottest man in Starfleet, has just said that he's my lover. Bittersweet, that he should tell me this just as he's about to say goodbye.

Well, I knew it would come to this, eventually. But it's a hell of a time to bring up the subject. I steel myself and move away from him to lie on my side facing him, so I can look him calmly in the eyes.

With something like humor in his eyes, he goes on, "I believe it would be enjoyable for us to explore aspects of our relationship which do not involve sexual activity."

"You mean discontinue the activity," I say, not really asking, but he says, emphatically, "Certainly not. I would still like to enjoy those activities with you. And there are others, more typical of people becoming friends, companions, which I would like to explore. You are an attractive person, in more ways than one. I would like to know you better."

As simple as that. I believe he's enjoying the look on my face. I pull myself together and ask, "And we wouldn't have to keep it a secret any more?" The final evidence that he meant what he said, I thought, and my heart leaps as he nods, slowly, holding my gaze.

"You can start by calling me by my name," and I slide back into his embrace and whisper it in his ear.

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FIN

FIN

FIN**  
**


	7. Almost Never

NOTE:

TalesFromTheSpockSide and I have gone much farther with this pair than we anticipated.

**Rather than publishing each story as a one-shot, I'm gathering them here and deleting them where they used to be. **

**You may have read several of these chapters as separate stories. After a few chapters, we'll get to entirely new ones. **

Also, lots of people write fanfic about various games played by the officers on the Enterprise. Please know this chapter is not based on or derived from any other fanfic story. Games are games. Cheers.

* * *

**7. Almost Never**

This chapter is written by **ejectingthecore**.

* * *

The captain gave us our orders.

Upon your turn you were to make a true statement about something you'd never done. Then everyone who'd really done it had to drink a shot. He plunked two large open bottles of Jack in the center of the table, raised his right hand and said solemnly "The game is no fun if you lie, so we take a grave oath at this moment that we will drink upon every occasion of truth."

I knew he was right. I'd played many a time and a game where there was lying was worse than boring. I decided then and there to stick to the truth for the sacred spirit of the game. I was a lousy liar, anyway. I knew that Spock couldn't lie, and couldn't get drunk on alcohol, so he was the most intriguing player--and in the most danger. I was surprised he agreed to play, but I saw the logic when he sat next to me and stroked my knee with his under the table. It was infuriatingly erotic. We'd been fucking for weeks, in every nook and cranny of the ship and even a couple of shuttles, and I knew what that knee promised. But our social and emotional relationship was still very new and no one had any idea about us, so above the table we were straightlaced and took the game deadly seriously.

It didn't take long for everyone--everyone but Spock, that is--to get drunk, drunk, drunk. Officers who were posted to the finest ship in the fleet were slurring out idiotic statements like "I never walked in on two people having sex." and "I never got so drunk I couldn't remember it the next day." Clearly that one induced a group-drink-fest, which, I was proud to admit, did not include me. As the questions began to degenerate, the Captain reluctantly excused himself, presumably so us lesser officers could have fun without fear of censure. It was big of him. The game did pick up once the boss was gone. Practically everyone was getting really far gone and stupid. Except Spock, of course, who was utterly amused.

Somehow I'd gotten away with very few shots, and those I secretly sipped and hadn't gotten called on it. Spock and I had both figured out how to strategize, asking easy-for-us questions that got everyone else drunk. He didn't care about everyone else's inebriation, but he did uphold my honor by asking dumb questions he knew I was unlikely to have done. I personally had never eaten anything prepared by a Bolian or gone running naked across the academy grounds--though it was kind of alarming how many people had--so I'd been spared a large amount of Jack.

Then the questions started to get very personal. Luckily for Spock, most of them were phrased vaguely enough that he was able to evade them without lying.

Some of them hit a little too close to home, and I started to get uncomfortable, wondering if a question might arise that I'd be tempted to lie about. About five seconds after I had that thought, one such question arrived. "I've never had sexual relations in an access tube." Crap. What to do? Honesty's the best policy, and the game is no good if you don't play straight. So I erred on the side of truth. Spock couldn't lie, and this question was quite specific, no way around it. So without looking at one another, we both raised our glasses and sipped. No one else did. There was a moment of silence, several looks, but Spock did his glaring-don't-fuck-with-me eyes and everyone just burst out laughing and quickly moved on.

Two seconds later not one person could remember that Spock and I had sipped shots together (well, he slammed his for effect while I drank very little.) The fact that the Vulcan first officer had fooled around in an access tube was let go without a second glance, just proving they were all three solar sails to the vacuum. "I've never fooled around in zero G." The game continued. The questions got more detailed and lewd, the sexual acts involved more specific and intimate.

It was the turn of a sexy Ensign with a fuck-me face. She was cute, inebriated, and clearly dirty. Slurring into an empty shot glass she said "Okay, okay. I've got a doozy. I have never performed anal play." The question elicited a collective groan of approval and a few "here heres", as if we were finally getting down to the real stuff.

A few people drank. I did.

There was general hilarity, surprised looks, elbows shoved into various ribs. Hidden by the chaos, Spock turned to me, cocked his head and raised one eyebrow. Without taking his eyes off of mine, he reached for his shot glass and with an elegant move of his long fingers he slid it away from himself. He broke my gaze and went back to the game. Someone was slopping out "I never did it on a transport"……

I was getting sorely tempted to leave. Everyone was totally stupid, and I had the knee of a god rubbing mine. And since that one significant question, Spock had been eyeing me. He seemed curious. Intrigued. Aroused. And I could hardly keep from smirking at him--and jumping him.

Thankfully the game came to an abrupt halt as everyone realized nearly at once that it was dumb and they needed to find beds. They all began to ooze out of the room. As we exited, Spock placed his hand on the small of my back. It was a very small gesture, very tame, but electric. I blushed hard and hoped he was not looking at my red face. I could feel every one of his long, hot fingers guiding me out of the room. Where everyone could see. Unlike the Captain, he had latitude to pursue personal relationships as long as he didn't flaunt them. Tastefully letting them be known was okay. But I was still surprised he wanted everyone to see us together, and that fact thrilled me and turned me on something fierce.

I was annoyed and frustrated when I heard my best friend call me back. I asked Spock to excuse me and he waited in the corridor with his hands folded behind his back, bidding a formal Spock-like goodnight to each officer who tumbled out of the recreation room.

My tipsy friend grabbed my arm. "That's the guy?!" she blurted out, thankfully in an exaggerated whisper.

I made huge eyes at her and stated shortly, "I have to go."

"First Officer. Most gorgeous and mysterious man in the 'fleet. Commander Spock is the guy that you've been having hot sex with, spending time with, spending nights in his room?" There was a sudden glimmer in her drunk little eyes, joined by a hiccup. "And the access tube."

I gave her another meaningful look and said "Yes."

She actually squealed. "The dead-sexy Vulcan. Second in command of the ship. You lucky little fuck." Hiccup. "I can't believe it."

"Well believe it. And let me go." I gave her a wink, "I think I have plans for him tonight."

This time when he guided me through the corridors with his hand, nothing in the galaxy could stop me. I was on a collision course with his bed.

When we got there I pushed him back gently on the flat covers and vowed to myself they'd be messed up and on the floor by the end of the night. But for now, sweetness. I snaked my arm around his back, ran my fingernails along the nape of his neck. He murmured into my jawbone, where he was nipping and kissing. It was sultry. We had done so many wild things with and to each other, it was good to just hold and kiss him and enjoy feeling his upright and correct body soften beneath my hands.

Except for one part of him, which hardened against my leg as he rolled on top of me. He was a foot taller than me, and he dipped his head to kiss my eyes, down one temple to my ears. He swirled his tongue there and set me on fire. I ground my hips up against him. Pushed his shoulder and we fell over to lie side by side. I looked deeply at him and was incredulous at how good he was at making love with just his eyes. He was a dirty boy, and I was thankful for that, for the fact that he came onto me in the shuttle so long ago. Lucky for me, he was a playboy, _my_ playboy. His eyes burned into mine.

I ran my free hand down his side and got up on my knees to remove my dress. Sat back to take off my tights. My boots. I knelt again before him. He had not moved, but propped himself on one elbow and lay on his side watching me. I revealed myself to him like I'd done many times, but this time he whispered "I tell you, you are beautiful." He reached out one hand to tentatively touch my bare stomach and run two fingers there. "You _are_ beautiful." He reached for my hip and pulled me onto him, biting into my mouth with a wide open kiss, giving me his tongue, reaching into my soul.

"I need you out of these clothes," I panted. He stood and disrobed completely, then wrapped his hand around his cock and pumped it like he'd done to tease me in the Decon shower weeks ago.

"No, no, let me." He shook his head and walked toward the bed, lay once more just where he was. Soon we were kissing and rolling over and over one another, a sweet storm of arms, legs, lips, tongues, definitely mussing up those bedcovers. We landed face-to-face, on our sides, and I slid my hand along his ear, eliciting a purr. Again I ran my hand down his slender hip, but this time continued to snake a path around to his buttocks--all the foreplay of the night leading me inevitably there. The foreplay that began back with his look of curiosity and arousal during the game. My fingers gripped one cheek and pulled on it slightly, opening him. He took a quick sharp breath. And then slowly, deliberately pushed back into my hand. I pulled him slightly more open and he groaned.

He had pleasured me with his fingers in this way, but he'd obviously never received. By now I knew his eyes, knew intimately the nuances of their expression. I'd studied those eyes at rest, filled with desire, in supplication. Right now I saw that he wanted more. But I asked him. "This," I made a vague motion between us, "does not work together with mental control. Can you let me do it?" His eyes stayed steady on mine, enough answer. I pulled him gently toward me to roll him on his stomach. He sighed, and that was my signal that he was indeed relinquishing control, much as he did for me under duress when I bound him in the shuttle. But this time without restraints.

I grabbed a pillow and told him to put it under his hips. His body looked more delicious than ever before, laying there waiting for me. His beautiful ass was all mine. I started by running my hands softly all over his back, pressing into his curves as I worked lower and lower. I noticed for the nth time how unexpectedly luscious his ass was. This was not a fact one could discern in the usual uniform pants, and I remembered the first time I saw this part of him and was so pleasantly taken aback by his round lushness. Having it all to myself, him wanting my hands to cover and spread him, drove me crazy and I could hardly wait a moment longer. I started to knead him, pushing his cheeks. I pulled him far apart with both my thumbs and he ground into the pillow.

Since we started to spend time in his quarters we had lube close at hand. It was only seconds before I'd coated my fingers with it. I used one hand to spread him open and another to brush his anus with one slick finger. He moaned in a way I'd never heard before, and I was very encouraged. I traced lazy circles around his opening and he ground against the pillow again. His hands grasped the sheets for dear life. A very positive reaction. So I slowly and tenderly slid a finger inside. He caught his breath and his body tensed, his fingers tensed around the bedcovers, but I waited until he relaxed again. I did not move. He pushed back against me, moved onto my finger, asking for more. I gave it to him, and soon my finger was inside him and he was moaning softly into the sheets. I spiraled, teased, pushed in and out, but always gently, waiting for him to set the pace. And soon he was fucking my finger of his own volition, and I hardly did anything more. I could see saliva wetting the covers where his face was smashed into the bed. It was going very, very well.

I pulled my finger out and he gasped. I told him to get up on his hands and knees and he obeyed quickly. I took a moment to savor the staggering sight of this most impressive man, who commands hundreds and saves entire worlds, hands on the bed, knees spread for me. I savored the sight of his dreamy ass--and his very hard cock. I knelt behind and to one side of him and inserted my finger slowly again as he groaned. "Relax" I told him and added another. He nearly shouted and I stayed still until I was sure he wanted to continue. He muttered and nodded at me, and I pushed very slowly farther into him. At the same time I reached around for his penis and he started to let out a continuous moan, verging on a whine. I kept both my hands moving very gently and before long he was making the sounds I knew very well, those that presaged a huge orgasm. It turned out to be monumental. A mindblowing howl. Growling and shaking his head like a wet animal. His face slammed into the bed.

He rolled over enough to look up at me and he smiled, full-on smiled. He was soft and his face was open and I took this rare, uninhibited moment to kiss him as if diving into crystal stars and black space.

We would not be playing "I Never" again. For a man who could not lie, it had just become far too risky.

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Reviews for this story when it was a one-shot, that existed before we combined.

hot4edward

Hot!

ahealthyaddiction

*gasp* This was amazing. Seriously. So many levels... a hard M story, VERY hard, yet sweet with Spock being okay with going public, and his vulnerability being part of the sexiness... BRAVO again. =)

hopefuladdict

First I was shaking with laughter, so many great one-liners

"or gone running naked across the academy grounds--though it was kind of alarming how many people had"

then fanning myself from the ridiculously hot sex. Can't list that here, I don't want to pass out from getting it twice in one day from that man!

TalesFromTheSpockSide

Yeah, baby! Boldly going where no one has gone before. Your characters have more fun...


	8. Room With a View

_Disclaimer: Paramount owns the characters. As far as I am aware, this work is not inspired by, copied from, based on, or derivative of any other work in any medium._

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**8. Room With a View**

This chapter written by **TalesFromTheSpockSide**

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Christine Chapel was finished restocking the supply cabinet. Closing the door, she glanced over at her console and was startled to see motion on one of the monitors. These were emergency monitors for the decon area; no one was supposed to be in there today. She went over to have a look.

Oh, it was Mr. Spock, doing something with the console. Probably something routine. She lingered, watching his long fingers touching the panels like she wished he'd touch her, gently but surely. The view was from about five meters behind him and slightly above his head, and she let her gaze drop down to admire his very trim, very firm backside as he leaned over the console. He reached for something on the left side of the console and she sighed at his lithe movement.

_Don't be a lovesick fool_, she told herself. _He doesn't know what love is and he never will._ Her only satisfaction was knowing that there was no other woman on board who could seduce him either; she was not alone.

However, neither was Spock, apparently. A female voice from out of visual range spoke up, saying, "Reporting as ordered, sir." Spock looked up to his left and replied without preamble, "I need you to look at the circuitry on this console; it is not responding according to normal parameters."

Christine checked her readings. The console had been locked down with Spock's command code. _What was he talking about?_ That unit had been working fine last week. She looked up at the monitor again to see a young woman in a red Engineering uniform set down a toolkit on the other side of the console. Spock walked around to stand beside her; Christine could now see both their faces.

The ensign pulled something out of her toolkit and ran it over the top panel on the unit. She didn't get far. To Christine's astonishment, Spock reached out and gently removed the tool, setting it down on the panel, and took the girl's hand in his, looking down at her with an expression that was almost kind.

"I have locked the entry codes," he said. "No one can get in without a command override."

Instead of looking aghast or apprehensive, the girl smiled up at him and took his other hand. "You think of everything," she said and stood on tiptoe – and kissed him. On the lips. Without hesitation, and without any protest from her superior officer. Her superior officer, indeed, drew her closer, right into his embrace, and tilted his head to fit his lips to hers, closing his eyes and delving deep into her mouth.

Christine fell back onto a chair. _What the hell?_

*

Mr. Scott was testing out some of the emergency communications equipment for Lt. Uhura, mostly audio comm, but a few of the cameras had been dodgy, so he ran through several remote connections. Picture and audio were working fine on most; he had noted and logged several minor repairs when he suddenly heard a familiar voice from the monitor. He looked up; it was the monitor for one of the decon chambers.

"No one can get in without a command override." It was Mr. Spock. _Why would he want to lock anyone out of the decon chamber?_ Then Scotty saw the girl, Ensign – _what the hell was her name? _– who had been sent out on a service request. He realized now it must have come from Mr. Spock. But the decon chambers had been vetted recently.

Oh. So it wasn't _that_ kind of service the Commander wanted. Scotty watched as Spock applied himself to kissing the lass, who to all appearances had done this before, and with Spock as well. Her hands were getting friendly with the Vulcan's backside now.

Scotty leaned back in his chair and activated the Do Not Disturb function on his office door. Who was he to begrudge his fellow officers a bit of personal interaction? And if they were going to interact in a public place, well, he was a member of the public, wasn't he?

*

Christine couldn't tear her eyes away; it was like watching a transit wreck. The girl was actually fondling Spock's ass, and from all appearances he liked it. His hips pressed against her – the console was hip-high for a human of normal height – and his arms tightened around her body.

"What's the special today?" the girl said softly. The state-of-the-art sensors picked up every syllable. Spock ran his fingers through her hair, loosing it from its ponytail, and said in the deepest baritone Christine had ever heard from him, "Ladies' choice."

The girl smiled. "Let's see, last time I was caged in there – " she indicated the central decon unit – "while you jacked off in the shower." _*_

Christine felt her face flush. She didn't know what was more embarrassing, the vulgar language, or the idea that Spock might actually do such a thing. The girl was still talking. "I want to reenact that scenario as it should have happened," she said and walked away from Spock, into the central unit. He cocked an eyebrow, but went to stand behind the console.

The ensign crouched down, presumably to check something, but popped back up to a standing position when Spock said, "I have come to speak to you about a disciplinary issue, Ensign."

"Sir?" said the girl. Spock gestured for her to come forth and she did, looking puzzled but amused.

"You owe me a report, Ensign. When last we met, I gave you the option of determining a time and date for our discussion of that report. You have not responded."

"Sir, I was going to – "

Spock made a more peremptory gesture. "I will have to administer discipline myself, I see." He stepped back, to the side of the console where Christine could see his whole body from the side. "Come here, Ensign."

The girl moved slowly between Spock and the end of the console. He put his hand on her shoulder, spun her around to face the unit and barked, "Bend over and grasp the console."

"S-sir?"

"You will not speak unless I permit you to. Now bend over."

Christine saw the girl swallow hard. She leaned over and spread her hands out over the inactive console.

*

Scotty was sure this was some kind of prank. He scanned his office for hidden comm devices; nothing. Yet there was Mr. Spock, no actor or impostor, ordering the ensign to bend over. _What the hell kind of discipline is he talking about? And why is she going along with it?_

Spock pushed up the ensign's skirt to expose her sweetly rounded ass, covered to be sure by her tights, but still a sight and a half. The Vulcan positioned himself to the ensign's right and behind her, fortuitously facing the video pickup, and grasped both her wrists in one hand behind her back.

"This is your punishment for failing to respond to my request for a meeting," he growled and Scotty's jaw dropped as Spock's left hand descended sharply on the ensign's buttocks. She gasped and jerked.

"Hold still, or this will become more painful for you," said her tormentor. He slapped her again. The sound was giving Scotty's penis something to do. He shifted in his chair as Spock spanked the girl, who squirmed and gasped but did not otherwise attempt to escape.

After five sharp blows, Spock stopped. He moved up behind the ensign, pressed himself against her backside and rolled his hips slightly. "There now, is that better?" he whispered. She moaned softly. He went on, "Putting pressure on an injury can be quite effective in blocking messages from the pain receptors." She did not respond but stood panting, waiting, and Spock said, "Perhaps more pressure is in order," and ground himself against her, hard. She moaned again and he stepped back.

"Perhaps more discipline," he amended and reached for the waistband of her tights.

*

Christine heard a sound in the next room. Hastily she pressed the comm and said, "Hey Jackie, I'm taking a break. I'll be having a little nap in here; don't let anybody in, okay?"

Jackie acknowledged and Christine locked the door, just in case, then went back to staring at the monitor, where her genteel Mr. Spock had just finished spanking the young woman.

Christine found herself wishing she were bad enough to be spanked.

The girl stiffened as Spock's hand seized her tights and pulled them down, along with her panties, to tangle around her calves. "Knees together, ensign," he ordered, her wrists still trapped in his grip. He stood with his head on one side, considering her smooth young buttocks for a moment.

"This is for failing to file the report at all," he hissed in her ear and his hand came down again, this time on her bare flesh, which tensed and trembled at the impact. The girl bowed her head; Christine saw her face and was shocked to see, not fear, but lust in her expression. She felt her own sex stir.

Spock was breathing deeply as he smacked the girl's other buttock, then caressed it. He bent over to rasp in her ear, "I wonder whether this would be as effective if implemented on your breasts," and the girl gasped deeply and moaned, "Sir, please, don't – "

"I have not given you leave to speak," said her superior officer and landed a few more slaps on her backside. He shifted his feet a little and Christine could see the arousal straining at his pants. Oh, how she had imagined that part of his anatomy. She had caught a glimpse or two of it, in the course of various medical procedures, but never erect, of course. The stirring in her sex became a rush of heat. _If only he'd open his pants..._

"Now, perhaps you are ready for your final punishment," he growled and pulled the zipper on the back of her skirt down, letting it fall around her feet, and pushed her tunic up, peeling it off over her head. She was naked except for the tights and panties around her ankles, and her regulation black boots. Spock ran his hands over her body, from the back of her neck down her spine to her hips, then his hands went to his fly.

*

Scotty had almost climaxed when the ensign's uniform came off. Such curves, such young luscious flesh... Then he realized what Spock was up to and watched with awe as the Vulcan opened his pants, pushed them down to his thighs, and let his cock emerge, long, strong, hard, and...green. Well, that stood to reason, didn't it. But it was a magnificent specimen anyway; Scotty wondered where the Commander was going to use it first.

"On your knees, Ensign," he heard Spock say, and the girl released her grip on the console, turned, and dropped to her knees on the floor. Spock leaned over her to brace his hands on the unit and said hoarsely, "Suck."

Her trembling hand came up and took hold of his organ. She guided it to her lips and kissed the tip, licked it hesitantly; Spock shuddered and said, "Take it, all of it."

"Sir, it's – I can't, it's too big..."

"We will see," he said and one hand came down to grip the hair on the back of her head, pushing her mouth against the shaft in her hand. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth, as if in surrender, and Scotty watched as the damn thing went in and in and she gagged a bit, but then he saw the muscles in her throat and cheeks working. Spock released her head and her hand moved to stroke the part of the shaft still visible.

_Now that is a proper blow job_, thought the chief engineer.

*

Christine almost climaxed when she got a look at Spock's manhood. She'd known it was green, but when erect it was more impressive than any organ she'd seen on any species. _Holy smokes, that's a handful and then some._ Her eyes followed it as it sank into the girl's mouth and Christine found herself salivating. Would she ever have had the nerve to do this to Spock?

The medical part of her mind was noting how quickly Spock achieved orgasm, no differently than a human, his whole body clenching and twitching as he released his seed into the girl's mouth. Christine gulped automatically and wondered wildly what he tasted like. The girl withdrew her mouth and looked up at Spock and said, softly, "Had enough – sir?"

He took a deep breath and pulled her up by her shoulders, pushing her against the console and bending her back over it so that her breasts jutted up under him. "No," he growled and, pulling her arms up over her head and pinning them with one hand, with the other he took hold of her breast and groped and squeezed and pinched mercilessly, moving over to treat the other one as roughly, while she squirmed, her naked sex rubbing against his already recovering cock.

Christine was impressed, medically, of course.

The Vulcan left off manhandling the girl's breast and gave the side of it a light slap. She jerked, as before, and her soft flesh quivered under his treatment. He struck the other breast, still lightly, and she threw her head back and moaned deeply. Spock leaned in to suck and pull at her nipple with his lips, then landed another slap on it. The girl cried out, but there was pleasure in her voice.

"Had enough, Ensign?" Spock asked and she shook her head. "What more could you want? Have you not learned your lesson yet?" She shook her head again. "You may speak, Ensign. Tell me how I may discipline you further."

"Please, Commander..." she was gasping for breath and he loosened his hold on her wrists, allowing her torso to relax slightly. "Please, make me come, sir. You know how I hate losing control. Make me lose it, please, sir."

*

Scotty, thankful for an office with no windows, had his pants open and his hand on his organ by now. Stroking slowly, he tried to pace himself for what was transpiring on the screen. Spock had the wench begging now, although Scotty was sure she really wanted him. They were quite the pair; better than a holovid, and live yet.

His expert eye told him that the ensign was slicker than a lube spill on a clean deck; he could see the sheen on her thighs. Spock went down on his knees and pushed her legs apart, his open mouth pausing before her mound. His hands held her hips in place so she couldn't thrust against him. She moaned and grabbed his hair and slowly he lowered his mouth.

*

Christine could almost feel his silky tongue as she watched his eyes close and his hands grip the ensign's ass. _To hell with it_, she thought, shifting and pulling up her skirt, and shoved her own hand down into her panties, going unerringly to her clitoris and giving it the same treatment she was sure the ensign was getting.

Just as the ensign and Christine were both ready to come, Spock stood suddenly, still holding the girl by her hips, and growled against her neck, "What is the final discipline, Ensign?"

"Final, sir?" She could barely form the words.

"What punishment could I administer to be sure you perform acceptably in the future?"

"Oh, sir – only one thing – "

"Say it."

"Please – "

"Say it right now, Ensign, or I will administer something you will enjoy much less."

The girl whispered, "Fuck me."

"Fuck me – what?"

"Fuck me, sir. Please."

"Louder."

"Fuck me, please, sir, fuck me _hard_," she cried out and he finally lifted her by the butt, planted her on the console, spread her legs impossibly wide, and commenced to fucking her.

Christine's climax hit when the girl grabbed Spock's shoulders and bucked and screamed and sobbed.

Scotty ejaculated all over his hands when he heard Spock roar as he buried his cock deep inside her in a last thrust.

Panting and clinging to the shuddering girl in his arms, Spock lifted his head and his eyes fell on the video pickup. Scotty knew Spock was seeing a green light above it, signifying that it was active. Thank the stars he couldn't tell whether anyone was watching or from where.

He must have overlooked that one detail, thought Christine as she straightened her clothes. Spock's gaze remained fixed on the pickup for a full minute. Then he pulled the girl against his chest and kissed her thoroughly. When he released her she held his face in her trembling hands and said, "Thank you, sir, may I have another?"

Spock's face dropped against her shoulder and Scotty saw the man's shoulders shake. He was laughing, for crying out loud! He felt a sudden comradely affection for his commander; he was human after all, and in a way to which Scotty could relate.

Christine felt tears spring to her eyes. If only she could be the one to make him laugh. Then she straightened and told herself that it was good that he had found someone. She'd just have to be the best friend he had.

Spock and his lover dressed and tidied up, and the girl slipped out of the room first after giving Spock a quick kiss. The first officer had already entered the release codes on the reactivated console and he turned to go.

Just before he walked out of range, he turned back to look into the pickup, and raised one eyebrow. Then he was gone.

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Reviews that existed for this chapter when it was a one-shot:

vulcanvamp:

HOLY HELL!  
I don`t think I`ll recover from that!  
Just...damn!

nerdielady:

Whooee! How did I miss this one before?

hot4edward:

Funny ending!

hopefuladdict:

That was just ridiculous in its hotness...I felt like a dirty, filthy voyeur. The details on the camera angles where brilliant. I am a bad girl, Spock can punish me any day. Good Grief! Well Done!

ejectingthecore:

Fantastic. I can't stand how hot this is. I'll read it repeatedly.

hot4edward  
2009-10-15 . chapter 1

Funny ending!

hopefuladdict  
2009-10-15 . chapter 1

That was just ridiculous in its hotness...I felt like a dirty, filthy voyeur. The details on the camera angles where brilliant. I am a bad girl, Spock can punish me any day. Good Grief! Well Done!

ejectingthecore  
2009-10-15 . chapter 1

Fantastic. I can't stand how hot this is. I'll read it repeatedly.


	9. Talk Dirty to Me

_Disclaimer: Paramount owns the characters. As far as I am aware, this work is not inspired by, copied from, based on, or derivative of any other work in any medium._

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**9. Talk Dirty to Me**

This chapter written by **TalesFromTheSpockSide**

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After our most recent foray into kink, Spock and I spend some time abstaining from what he calls "physical intimacy", although there's been plenty of kissing and cuddling going on. Who knew Vulcans could cuddle?

He's learning about me as well. Like the time we played strip poker and I kept winning until he was completely stark naked and I still had on every stitch. He said later (after stripping me himself) that he obviously did not understand poker, but that he didn't mind losing to me.

Right now I have something like the flu and feel listless and achy. I'm leaning back against him as we sit on his couch; he's reading a padd and I lay my head on his warm, broad chest and listen to him breathing.

"Are you experiencing any improvement in your symptoms?" he asks, putting down the padd and tipping my chin up to see my face.

"A little," I say. "It just takes time, you know. Some things even Dr. McCoy can't heal any faster."

"I am the first to concur on that topic." He has no qualms about kissing me, as he's apparently immune from whatever I have, but as I feel germy he settles for nibbling on my earlobe. "It would be most desirable if certain...physical activities were considered therapeutic in your condition."

"Spock…" I sit up and give him a skeptical look. "You're not suggesting we have sex at a time like this. I'm not physically up for it."

"Not precisely."

"What, precisely?"

"The achievement of mutual satisfaction," he murmurs, "through the power of suggestion." He pulls me back down against him and laces his fingers together across my midsection, his lips returning to my aural appendage. The idea of a Vulcan talking dirty is irresistible.

"You may make the attempt," I tell him and hear that almost-chuckle against my cheek.

"I need a moment to consider my options. There are so many ways we have enjoyed each other - it is often difficult to decide. We have both given and taken orally, manually, clothed, unclothed, face to face, from various angles… Ah, I have it."

He shifts a little and I can feel his hard thighs under my behind. He continues.

"Recently you introduced me to something you referred to as 'anal play'." I nod and he goes on, "However, I have not yet returned the favor. I have been looking forward to producing a result similar in intensity to that which you so generously produced in me."_*_

My pulse quickens. "Oh, yes," I sigh. I remember other lovers who have pleasured me in this way. I know none of them could live up to what my Vulcan lover will do to me.

"I believe I will begin by arousing you visually," he murmurs. "I have noticed that you enjoy watching me go about my business, naked, in the privacy of my quarters. Perhaps the sight of my legs and ass will pique your interest."

Not only the thought, but the words he's using, turns me on now.

"I may invite you to dispense with your clothing as well, although, as I found during our poker games, being unclothed in the presence of one who is clothed can be quite stimulating. Either way, I will proceed with my usual routine and feign disinterest for a time."

"Tease."

"Indeed. Very effective, as you are particularly fond of unresolved sexual tension. In this case, I will not keep you, or myself, waiting long. Most likely I will approach you from behind, in order to enjoy maximum skin contact while enabling me to caress the front of your body with my hands.

"I will begin by stroking your face lightly with my fingers, perhaps allowing you to suck on them, as you know how quickly that arouses me. You will feel my cock stirring against your buttocks, pressing between them," and again his choice of human slang is titillating. I'm sure he knows that. He continues murmuring in my ear and his hands are making slow, warm circles on my belly and up under my breasts. Therapeutic, indeed.

"I will trace circles on your skin until my fingers reach your breasts; they will move over your curves in ever-smaller circles until I am so close to touching your nipples that you are gasping and trembling.

"I will lift my fingers to your mouth once more for you to suck, then bring them back down to stroke your moisture around the areoles, still not quite touching your nipples, enjoying the firmness of your backside thrusting against my erection as you squirm. My hands will take hold of your breasts and knead and squeeze them and I will talk to you about how I plan to do the same to your buttocks soon."

Said buttocks clench against his lap in anticipation. I close my eyes and feel his hands, right now, cupping my breasts gently through my shirt.

"We will find a suitable place for you to bend over," he goes on, his voice growing more rough. "Perhaps the back of the armchair. You will need something solid to hold on to while I fuck you."

I moan and grip his hands, which are now firm against my hips, pressing me against the hardness rising under my butt. Hearing him say that word almost sends me over the top, right there.

"When you are in position," he says, "my hands will finally touch your swollen nipples; I will pinch and rub and squeeze until you beg me to take you. You will spread your legs, and I will kneel behind you to caress your ass cheeks and your hot mound. I will move under the arch between your legs, and my fingers and my tongue will torment your clitoris until you climax. I look forward to hearing your cries as I eat you."

He hasn't even touched me between my legs and I'm ready.

"I will saturate my fingers with your hot come and using it to lubricate your beautiful, firm ass, then push my finger into you and listen to you moan. Then I will stand up behind you and penetrate your vagina with my cock at the same time. I intend to fuck you with my fingers and my cock until you scream and come again, and the sound of your ecstasy will urge me to orgasm... I will fill you with my seed and hold you until your body relaxes and I carry you to bed."

I'm whimpering when his palm moves down, pressing firmly between my legs through my pants, and my hips thrust up against it and my orgasm flows through me like a wave of relief. At the same time I hear Spock groan and feel his erection jerk and swell, then relax, as I lie back on him. I'm definitely feeling an alleviation of my symptoms.

I feel him lift and carry me to bed, hear him in the lav, and then I must fall asleep almost immediately, because I dream I hear him say, "Sweet dreams, _vakshurik_."

(beautiful one)

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Reviews for this chapter when it existed as a one-shot.

Vulcanvamp:

Smokin hot!

hot4edward:

HOT!


	10. Mission: Sickbay

_Disclaimer: Paramount owns the characters. As far as I am aware, this work is not based on, derived, copied, or borrowed from any other work in any medium._

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**Chapter 10. Mission: Sickbay**

This chapter written by **TalesFromTheSpockSide**

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"Stop that!"

"I am merely attempting to close your tool belt."

"It doesn't need closing. I'm almost done."

I'm on my knees – why do I end up in this position every time I'm with him? – and I give the sonic screwdriver one last twist. The door slides open halfway and I look up at my accomplice.

"Bingo," I gloat. Both of his eyebrows vanish into the shadow of his bangs.

"Fascinating."

We waste no time slipping into the isolation room, and I secure the door and scramble the code so nobody can get in. There's a skeleton crew on board while we're resupplying at Starbase 13 and everyone is either busy or on shore leave.

The perfect time to break into Sickbay.

Spock told me about his conversation with Dr. McCoy when they were temporarily stranded on an away mission. I don't mind that they were talking about me, although Spock assures me that nothing "untoward" was revealed about our relationship. He did let slip, however, that Medical was the one department in which we had not enjoyed intimate relations.

McCoy had taken Spock's advice and changed the code on the isolation area, the main ward, the medical supply cabinet, and his office. Even my brilliant Vulcan was unable to crack the code without having to spend an inexplicably long time in Sickbay.

It took me five minutes with a sonic screwdriver to jimmy the door controls.

I turn to Spock in the dim standby lighting and open my mouth to congratulate myself – and find myself ambushed. A large hand covers my mouth, another whips around my waist, and I'm lifted bodily across the room to be deposited on one of the two biobeds here. I know he won't hurt me – well, not any more than I like! – so I make a show of struggling against his grip, trying to roll off the bed. He holds me down with one hand on my solar plexus as his other hand moves swiftly to deploy the restraints that feed from either side of the bed.

When I am strapped down across my shoulders, hips, knees, ankles, he steps back to examine his work. I open my mouth again to speak, and he leans over and orders, "You are not to speak for the duration of this exercise. You may vocalize, without words, but if you speak I will be forced to gag you. Do you understand?"

I nod, a shiver of pleasant alarm rolling down my spine. His long fingers touch my mouth, trail down my face, my throat, to my collarbone, and he says, "Good," and removes his hand from me. He moves around the bed, activating various medical apparatus, and the indicators over my head light up, silently. He turns away, a tricorder in his hand, and his gaze moves over the walls, the ceiling. At one point he stops, approaches the corner of the ceiling, reaches up with a long arm and makes a twisting motion.

"I am disabling the comm pickup for this room," he says and I giggle. One of our escapades, in the decon chamber, had been overseen by a live comm feed, as Spock discovered after the deed was done. We didn't know whether anyone had been monitoring it, but it taught us to check.

Spock comes back over to me and stands by my feet. He takes off his tunic, folds it, lays it neatly on a chair; the sight of his muscular arms and chest are sexy beyond belief. And he knows it. He turns his attention to my boots, stroking their smooth surface before taking hold of a zipper and pulling it, slowly, all the way down. He leaves the boot on and unzips the other in the same way. My legs feel exposed and half-dressed.

He unfastens the restraint across my knees. "I will need freer access here," he murmurs as his hands caress my calves, my knees, my thighs – not far enough. He stops where my panties begin, slides his hands back down, behind the bend of my legs, and lowers his head to press his lips to my knee. His mouth lays a trail of soft warm kisses up my thigh as his hands gently slip up to hook my panties and slip them down, just a little, so that under my skirt my bottom is bare and the fabric in front barely touches my mons. Now my butt feels half-dressed, a naughty, furtive sensation.

Spock takes a moment to glance up at the indicators.

"Elevated heart rate," he says thoughtfully. "Blood pressure up, oxygen levels slightly elevated. As I expected."

I have no idea what the readings have to do with whatever delicious plan he has in mind. He's standing at my shoulder now, and he leans down to caress my face with his lips, kissing and nuzzling his way from my forehead to my ears; I turn my head so he can reach the back of my neck. Then his mouth brushes against mine, lightly, and mine opens as if to let him feed me, but he moves to cover the other side of my face and neck. My skin feels sensitized, my mouth still slightly open, wanting.

Hands reach behind my neck, unfastening my uniform, pulling the neck open, drawing it down over my shoulders, until my breasts are exposed to just above my nipples. Once again, just enough to feel uncomfortably half-covered. I can't move my body enough to push my uniform any further down; I can feel my damp panties between my thighs; the leather of my boots is loose around my ankles. I shift my knees, trying to rub my thighs together, to no avail.

"Your body temperature has dropped slightly," he informs me. "Let us see whether we can normalize it." With that he tilts the bed up so that I'm nearly vertical, facing him as he takes his time stripping down to his boots. I look at him standing there with his eyes soaked with desire, hands loose at his sides, ready to touch me, his sex stirring between slim hips, the pillars of his legs filling the black boots, and as I'm not permitted to express myself clearly I moan, long, deeply.

Spock steps up to me, hovering inches from my skin, places his hands on either side of the bed frame. Leans in until his body is a breath away from mine, the hair on his chest and between his legs brushing my half-exposed body. He bends his head toward mine, his mouth approaches my face, and I turn toward it, but still he doesn't kiss me.

"You want me to touch you," he whispers and I nod. "You want to feel my hands, my mouth, my sex on your body." Again I nod. "Your nipples are swollen with desire; your thighs are slick with it. Your mouth wants to taste me, to devour me."

This time I moan, louder, tormented. His tongue comes out to tease the shell of my ear and, impossibly, my arousal shoots higher and I squirm and utter more guttural wanting noises. My hands clench and unclench, aching to grab hold of him, any part of him. I can feel his heat, so close, but the straps hold me tight and I can't so much as thrust my hips or breasts toward him. I make a frustrated sound and his expression looks almost sly.

He tips the bed back so that I'm horizontal again, his body on hands and knees poised over me like a canopy. His eyes hold my gaze as I feel something hot and firm against my leg, rubbing against my calf, now the other one, something with a silky texture but a hard core, something long and flexible. His erection.

I gasp and his expression turns smug. Wordlessly he shifts upward, rubbing against my thighs now, his cock nudging up under the hem of my disheveled uniform, poking against my panties as if he were requesting entrance. His strong arms hold him over me as his hips tease, now pushing up my dress to press his length against my belly. My mouth is open again, gulping air, sighs and moans flowing out of me like music.

Now he shifts down a little, pulling his organ from under my skirt, then moves upward again to straddle my torso, bracing his hands against the indicator panel but leaning down a little to watch my face. One hand comes down to grip his cock and he slowly rubs it over the tops of my breasts. His own breath is coming fast and deep and the head that's stroking my skin is getting slick.

He guides it down, catching the neck of my dress and pulling it just enough to expose my nipples at last, and he rubs circles around each one with his hardness, finally pushing his whole length across each swelling point. My head goes back almost involuntarily and I cry out and squeeze my legs together, aching for release.

I know where he's going now, though, and as he slides further up the bed I close my eyes and open my mouth, catching a musky scent and feeling his heat over my face. The flesh that touches my lips is trembling; I put my tongue out, trying to draw it in, but he eludes me and strokes just the surface of my mouth, my cheeks. I open my eyes to see his face lit by the spectrum of the indicator lights, his mouth slack, his eyes half open, the face I know so well, the face of lust, of pleasure.

He stretches out on top of me, moving down, his cock once again sliding between my thighs, meeting with resistance from my underwear and the limited space. A growl escapes him and he reaches down to rip off my panties. I never get tired of that raw motion. His knees push between mine, parting my legs awkwardly but allowing the tip of his penis to just reach my mound. It's his turn to moan; he rubs his chest over my breasts and his mouth is busy nuzzling my face and neck again.

His hips nudge upward and his fingers reach between us, spreading my labia a little, and he presses the head of his cock against my clitoris. And just leaves it there. _Fucking Vulcan control_, I think, and I must be glaring at him because I see his version of a smirk as he looks down at me. I growl at him. He's lucky I can't say what I'm thinking.

My expression seems to please him. He actually breaks into a little smile, and with a twist of his hips he prods my clit with his head, a short sharp motion, pushing me to the edge of climax, and with another smile pulls back and does it again, once, twice, and I'm gone, jerking against the straps, wailing, my gut clenching, my world centered on that swollen point between my legs.

When I can focus again he's looking at the indicators. "Most satisfying," he murmurs. "All signs exceeded normal range." His gaze returns to my face and he whispers, "Now," and this time his hand opens my sex wider and the whisper comes again, "now," as he slides incredibly inside me, slowly, not all the way, half of his length still slick between my thighs, "_now_," and his voice grows more strident, more urgent, as he rocks on top of me.

I watch helplessly, feeling myself approach the edge again, as his rhythm picks up, his arms are trembling, his hips pounding against me, and he soars over into orgasm, pulling me with him, gasping, his mouth fumbling to find mine so I can finally drink deeply of him.

His hand reaches to one side and the straps release, and I fling my arms and legs around him and press my boots (which are miraculously still on me) against his ass, pushing his still-throbbing cock all the way into me. He groans, but it's a happy sound and I grin against his neck.

I don't know how we're ever going to top this.

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Reviews for this chapter when it used to be a one-shot:

ahealthyaddiction

WOW. that is intense. VIVID imagery, different and hot. Bravo! 3

ejectingthecore

Now, now, now. You know that makes me ded. Also, it's pleasing that she's the one who gets the door open, and asks herself that silly silly question! Ours is not to wonder why...


	11. Sex and the Single Vulcan, part I

_Disclaimer: Paramount owns the characters. As far as I am aware, this work is not inspired by, copied from, based on, or derivative of any other work in any medium._

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**Chapter 11. Sex and the Single Vulcan, part I**

This chapter written by **TalesFromTheSpockSide.**

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I'm just going on shift one morning when I hear my name being paged shipwide, calling me to Sickbay. Sickbay? My mind races; is my roommate hurt? Do they need something repaired?

I walk into the main ward and tell the medic there who I am, and she nods toward Dr. McCoy's office. "In there," she says. "He's waiting for you."

I stand before the door and touch the pad, hear the chime in the next room, and the door whisks open. "Come on in," says Dr. McCoy and I do. The door closes.

"You wanted to see me, Doctor?" Then I realize that there's someone else in the room, standing, hovering, wandering, hands before him, clasped as if in prayer. Spock. I tear my eyes from him to find McCoy's blue eyes on me. They're not their usual twinkling selves.

"Have a seat, Ensign," he says and I sit in the chair in front of his desk and wait. I've found that senior officers appreciate someone who can keep their mouth shut and listen.

"Commander Spock has come to me with a medical issue that he thinks you can help him with," says McCoy. "I'm here to make sure you understand what he's asking you to do."

I glance at Spock, wondering why he's not talking to me himself, and the doctor tells me, "He asked me to speak to you. You'll understand after I've explained it."

He tells me about Vulcan biology, the mating instinct, the bond Spock had that was broken by T'Pring. I knew about T'Pring, but not about _pon farr_.

"Vulcan males endure this condition every seven years, give or take," McCoy says. "For reasons unknown, it's occurring ahead of schedule this time. He hasn't had the chance to make arrangements."

"Arrangements? For what?" I'm still confused about my role in all this.

"For a partner." Spock's voice emerges from the shadows, low, harsh. "I must have a female for the duration of this time. To help me through it. To couple with me."

Enlightenment. I address Spock. "Of course, if I can do anything - "

"Before you agree to anything," the doctor breaks in, "let me tell you exactly what this entails. I know you and Spock have been sleeping together for some time now, but this is not what you think.

"Vulcan control is even more necessary than most humans think. Their strength is typically three times that of a healthy human. Their emotions are correspondingly extreme. During _pon farr_, he will be at the mercy of his body and his emotions; he'll be unable to control himself. At all.

"He may have periods where he doesn't know who you are - or care. He may say or do things he'll be ashamed of later. He may say or do things that will hurt you, emotionally or physically."

McCoy is watching me as he goes on. "This condition usually prevails for several days. The only other time I've seen Spock deal with it, it lasted ten days and he came out of it after he thought he'd killed the captain."

"Mate, kill, or die," says the specter wandering the room.

"Now, like I said," McCoy continues, "I know you and Spock have been enjoying each other sexually. But I don't want you thinking this would be an exciting, week-long fuck fest. This is life or death for him, and it could be dangerous for you."

"What are the alternatives?" I ask firmly, confidently. I hope.

"Sedation, which may or may not work," says the doctor. "Restraints, or isolation. Or finding another female willing to risk it for him, preferably a Vulcan woman."

"Doesn't sound likely, does it?" I say and McCoy shakes his head slowly. He leans forward on his desk and his tone softens a little.

"Listen, this is above and beyond the call of duty. Whatever understanding you and he have, he knows this is asking a lot. That's why he wanted me to talk to you; he didn't trust himself to be fair and objective." He takes a deep breath, lets it out. "It's probably none of my business, but do you care about him?"

I've never even asked myself that question, but the answer seems obvious. "I do, very much."

The specter halts in his pacing and his brown eyes come up to meet mine.

"If I were your sister," I say softly to the blue eyes, "would you be okay with it?"

McCoy leans back again and considers.

"I don't know about _okay_," he says at last. "But I think I'd understand. And for what it's worth, I care about that green-blooded hobgoblin too."

"You are fortunate, then, that I do not prefer males, Doctor," says Spock, emerging from the shadows with a faint smirk. "Or I might be importuning you for help."

"Shut up, Spock. Well?"

I realize the doctor is addressing me; I'm still registering the brusque exchange between two old, trusted friends.

"I'm willing," I say. "What do I need to do?"

*

I enter Spock's quarters feeling like I'm going on a blind date. I have some personal effects with me, in addition to various items I've left in his quarters before. Dr. McCoy checked us each out medically. I was grateful to him for his professional demeanor, but also for the moment when I slid down off the table and he said to me, out of the corner of his mouth, "Oh, and leave your sonic screwdriver at home, missy."

I grinned. He must have figured out how we'd broken in, last time he was on shore leave.

Now I stand in Spock's living area, wearing loose, comfortable clothing, heart pounding. _What am I doing? Will he really die if I don't do this? _Then Spock turns to me, after securing the door, and I realize he's probably thinking the same thing. His deep-set eyes search my face; he comes over to me and takes both my hands in his. They're hot, hotter than I've ever felt them.

"I cannot tell you what it means to me, that you are here," he says softly. "I did not expect you to agree to this."

"I can't let you die, Spock," I say, a little shakily, and he smiles down at me and puts his arms around me, gathering me to him. I lay my head on his chest and listen to the hum of his voice.

"You are afraid," he says and I nod. "I cannot change your fear. Indeed, it may become more intense at times during the course of this trial. I can only tell you that, whatever happens between us, I am still here. I am still your lover, your Vulcan. However strangely I may behave, remember - it is still _me_."

He sounds almost desperate and I hug him tighter and feel his hand come up to stroke my hair. We stand in silence for a minute and then I lift my head and stand on tiptoe, pull his head down for a long, soft kiss. When we part he takes my face in his hands and kisses it all over, my forehead, my cheeks, even the bridge of my nose, which makes me smile.

"Each time we make love," he murmurs, "it is all new again."

The secret of a great lover, I think. Every time is the first time.

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Reviews for this chapter as it existed before this whooshing together.

ejectingthecore:

Every time is the first time. You're such a romantic! I really like the ways this starts. Nice.

hot4edward:

So far, so good, nothing scary...yet. Hopefully their love and their connection will help temper the crazy times for him.

StarTrekFanWriter:

I really like the Spock/McCoy interaction in this chapter.


	12. Sex and the Single Vulcan, part II

_Disclaimers in prior chapters._

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**Chapter 12. Sex and the Single Vulcan, part II**

This chapter written by **ejectingthecore**.

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He sits on a chair across the room.

I am frozen, by a command. "Back on the sheets. Hands above your head." I lie back and do what he says, and I feel the stirrings of fear, a cold spiral starting in my heart. Is this how it begins? But he just wants to look at me.

The cold air makes my skin tingle and nipples harden. The light is dim, but I close my eyes anyway and imagine his tongue all over my body, his dark voice murmuring into my skin, the way I love him most. I can nearly feel a sharp cheekbone against my stomach, imagine the shift of the bed as he reclines, folds his long legs across one another, leans in to kiss. I remember words he's given to me, flirting, telling me what he'd do to me next time we were together. He'd trace ever smaller circles on my breasts, which at the moment are turned upward, cold in the quiet still air of the room where we are locked in place. He would bend me over the armchair, the very one he sits on now. He'd tell me to grasp the chair, spread my legs, he'd get behind me and kneel and reach with his tongue to find my clitoris.

I review the many promises he's made, on many occasions. But it makes this stillness even more agonizing.

For a long time I stay, so long that I no longer know the time or place. I am in an access tube, his mouth and my mouth working on one another, engines thrumming through my legs, his hips pressing into my face. I am in the decon chamber, watching him soap his body, just beyond my reach. I am in engineering, his hand reaching into my panties while I work, or spanking me red and ready. A shuttle, a Vulcan tied beyond his ability to escape. Another time, in the shuttle, Spock undressing me for the first time, my clothes sliding off and his hands taking their place. I'm beyond obeying, and I move my hands to my breasts for a desperate grasp at touch.

"Ensign, please," he says forcefully, his voice rough.

At this first sound in what seems like hours, I open my eyes. He is in the armchair, stone still, not touching himself. I have seen him controlled before, but never this blank, without a hint of amusement, playfulness, anything under the surface. Unlike all the times we've made love, now he's closed his face down. Yet even devoid of facial expression, somehow he is telegraphing danger and raw desire.

I pull my hands away from giving myself relief, slowly raise them up above my head once more.

The cold fear extends to my belly. Inside my still body, my mind runs everywhere. This is frightening. Part of me can't stand staying still when adrenaline is telling me to run. It's long. A long time still, and at some point I'm gazing into his eyes. Even though we're still motionless, I start to feel a softening in him, in the energy in the room.

He begins to touch himself. It sears my eyes. He's holding himself firmly and moving his hand so slowly, never taking his eyes off me. It's powerful and steady and he never goes faster, never looks away. Stares at me and moves his hand, his cock locked inside his hot fingers.

I beg him to come to me. He has me pleading, and he has the patience and control of a wall. I am not going to win.

While I lie in agony, he makes himself come. He never leaves the damn chair.

Until he is completely finished. My arms are still above my head, breasts jutting out, I'm wet beyond reason and throbbing between my legs, without so much as a touch. He hasn't given me leave to move. He slowly pulls himself up to his full, beautiful height, and takes a single step toward me. Another, this time with his eyes on fire, the tilt of Vulcan grin forming on his face. I am drowned in relief that he is nearing me, that this, whatever it is, is finally going to start. I don't realize it already has.

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	13. Sex and the Single Vulcan, part III

_Disclaimers in previous chapters._

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**Chapter 13. Sex and the Single Vulcan, part III**

This chapter was written by **TalesFromTheSpockSide**.

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That surreal scene of self-denial and self-satisfaction seems to have melted any awkwardness I feel. He doesn't seem as though he feels at all awkward, but lies beside me in the afterglow, smiling, teasing my body with his hands. It's all very relaxed and casual.

He watches his own hand as it smooths over my belly, hips, arms, leaning up on one elbow. His finger dips lazily into my navel and circles slowly; then he lowers his head and replaces his finger with his tongue and I feel a familiar jolt run from my belly down between my legs. He grins. "I never tire of your response to this," he purrs.

"I have no idea why it's so...stimulating," I reply and he shakes his head.

"Its cause is not relevant. The effect is the important issue." He flicks his tongue over my navel again and I feel the jolt again. He's right.

Apparently the conversation is over for now, because his mouth is busy on something else. Namely my stomach, kissing, nuzzling, tasting; he explores the hollow of my hipbones, brushes his lips over that spot on my waist that tickles and makes me clench, not in a good way. He blocks my elbow as it jerks involuntarily toward his skull, grabs hold of it with one hand and my hip with the other, holding me down, and his lips and teeth and tongue go after that spot as I squirm and yell at him.

Paradoxically, this treatment, carried to an extreme, becomes excruciatingly unbearable and pleasurable at the same time. My cries die down to whimpers, then moans, and my squirming takes on a wanton quality; when he presses a last kiss to my skin and looks up at me I almost protest.

The adrenaline this wrestling match has generated has to be used somehow. Without a thought in my head, lust alone driving my actions, I grab his shoulders and yank, pulling his grinning face up to mine and attacking his mouth, my nails digging into his flesh. My jaw opens wider as if to bite into him, our teeth scraping together; his breath is on my cheek and through my nose I inhale him.

It's not enough. I throw my entire weight over, shoving him onto his back and straddling him, my hands leaving his shoulders to grip his biceps; his hands clamp onto my thighs as our mouths continue to battle. If I were lucid I'd remember that he's three times stronger than me, but as that isn't the case I press down on him as if I were actually pinning him to the bed, grinding my sex down against his.

I wrench my mouth off his and growl, "Want it?" He nods and gasps and I lean down to take his ear between my teeth and repeat, "Want it, Spock? Do you?"

"Yes," he groans. "Please. Hard."

Without another word I reach down and seize his penis, not gently, and shove it against my opening and as our hips collide I release his ear and bite down on his shoulder. His fingers are drilling into my thighs as I drive against him, lifting my whole body up and slamming down on him, each time feeling him pierce me to the core as he pistons up to meet me.

Pain and pleasure, once more, tip me over into ecstasy and I throw my head back and gulp lungfuls of air and feel him straining, stilling, pulsing inside me, his hands finally loosening as we slow our frantic motions. His eyes are closed, his head back, his mouth half open, his chest heaving. I manage to collapse squarely on that chest and we lie, tangled together, bite marks and bruises stinging and throbbing.

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Reviews of this chapter before it got folded into this story:

ejectingthecore

Please. Hard. Is more than any girl could take from him. Guh.


	14. Sex and the Single Vulcan, part IV

_Disclaimers in earlier chapters.._

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**Chapter 14. Sex and the Single Vulcan, part IV**

This chapter was written by **TalesFromTheSpockSide**.

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"...So then," I say, and I'm laughing so hard I can hardly speak, "he wakes up in the middle of the quad, stark naked, painted blue, tied to a tree. On the first day of finals."

We're sitting in the armchair in Spock's living area, clothed, me on his lap, his arms squeezing me as he laughs with me. Throws his head back, tears in his eyes, laughing. It's been all afternoon, telling each other weird and funny stories and laughing our asses off and making out in between.

He rubs his face against my neck, still chuckling, and I say, "This is _pon farr_ as well?"

"Yes," he says, his voice muffled against my hair now. "Once the barriers of logic and control and propriety are broken down, what emerges is not a changed personality, but a liberated one. To be sure, the darker urges are freed along with the more pleasant ones," he nips my ear, then kisses it, "but unfortunately the darker ones have predominated in Vulcan lore."

"Thus the secrecy," I guess, "and the shame."

"Shame at the need for release," he tells me. "Not shame over the urges."

"So this is the 'real' you?"

He looks me in the eyes and I see something like impatience. "No," he says. "Only part of me. The real me is the one you have known all these months. That is the persona that encompasses my entire being, my beliefs, hopes, fears, abilities. Including my reason and logic. The whole Vulcan."

He is silent for a minute, then he shifts me in his arms, hooking my legs over one arm of the chair and resting my head on the other so he can bend down and sink into a long, deep, lavish kiss.

When he releases my mouth, momentarily, he whispers, "This is my passion. Only passion. All else is gone."

His mouth and hands burrow into my clothing, my body.

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Pre-existing reviews for this chapter:

hot4edward:

Hmm...short and sweet. I like that Spock can laugh a true belly laugh. Too bad he can't do this at other times. But I like that pon farr isn't all uncontrolled, violent-at-times passion.


	15. Sex and the Single Vulcan, part V

_Disclaimers in earlier chapters._

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**Chapter 15. Sex and the Single Vulcan, Part V.**

This part was written by **TalesFromTheSpockSide**.

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The darker urges take over soon enough.

I lie beneath him as he enters me, roughly, unapologetically, for the third time tonight. In addition to intercourse, I've gone down on him once, after which we pleasured each other with our hands, his come spilling over my belly and breasts, his palm rubbing it into my skin like lotion. Without speaking he rolls on top of me, still hard, and now I can sense an inner demon rising. His eyes are glazed, focused inward as he moves to find his own pleasure, disregarding me completely as though I were a sex toy and he adjusts me to suit his angle and thrust.

I keep telling myself that this is no honeymoon, that he needs this, that there will be comfort later. That I volunteered for this. Now there is only his weight, his strength, the grunt in my ear and the scent of both of our bodies. I close my eyes and my hands fall from his shoulders where they've been clinging and I lie bonelessly as he fucks and fucks.

And does not come. With a baffled growl he releases me, pulls out of me, kneels between my legs, head down like a beaten man. I look up at him, not moving or speaking, waiting for his next move, wondering if he'll give up for now.

Of course not. He is still Spock, after all, and he does not give up. Swiftly he scuttles back off the bed, pulling my legs to drag me downward, turning me over so my knees fold under me, my head still down on the bed. I know what's coming and it hits home to me that there is no safe word for this. Even if we'd agreed on one, it would be useless. I wrap my arms around my head and try to relax my lower body.

I've been taken this way before, but never by an inconsiderate lover. He's beyond inconsiderate. At least he pumps into my vagina a few times to lubricate himself; then the hands gripping my buttocks tighten and pull and spread me to receive him. It's not so bad at first; he's not rough, but he is persistent, and ultimately the stretching sensation becomes burning, then aching, then sharp pain as he forces the last centimeter of his cock into my anus.

Then he begins to move, deaf to my inarticulate cry, rocking at first, then jamming himself into me, yanking out, stabbing, impaling. If I close my eyes my world will narrow unbearably to that entrance alone, so I leave them open. I can see his face, an expression of lust and anguish mingled, and now every time I cry out or sob he grimaces, with pain or pleasure I don't know. I start to talk myself through it: _he'll come soon; I can take this; he's coming; he's going to stop, give up_; and finally, _it's just fucking, just live through it and you can get away._

After what seems like an eternity I feel him ejaculate and his whole body goes limp; his weight bears me down onto the bed as he pulls out of me. The moment I can find the strength, I push him off me and roll off the bed and to my feet, heading for the shower.

Behind me, on the bed, I can hear him sobbing.

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Reviews for this chapter:

hot4edward:

OK, I guess this is the NOT fun part. With a stranger this would be rape. But she loves him and understands this is a pure, biological need, that he can't help it. And on some level he feels anguish and shame that it takes so long to satisfy himself and at her cost. I hope this is the worst it gets 'cause I don't see how she's going to be able to take more. How is rational Spock going to be able to look her in the eye again, knowing crazy, out-of-control Spock violated her (even if with her consent)?

StarTrekFanWriter:

yikes...


	16. Sex and the Single Vulcan, part VI

_Disclaimers in earlier chapters._

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**Chapter 16. Sex and the Single Vulcan, part VI**

This chapter written by **ejectingthecore**.

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I slide to the bathroom floor and cry. The floor is cold and everything is white and bright. Basic feelings, anger, betrayal, fear will come soon, but I have a body to deal with, pain, blood. I clean myself. He's hurt me, in every way possible, and worse, he did it all without even noticing me. What am I doing here?

Good question. I think I'm here saving this man, this being I don't recognize. I try to reconcile the cold alien in the other room who fucks me until I bleed, with the man who has touched me with affection so many, many times, whose bed I share dreamily and happily, who just a few hours ago was laughing with me, out loud. "I am still here," he had said, called himself my lover. "Remember it's still me." That's all that can make me go back to him now.

I pull myself together physically and, harder, I steel my mind to return to the bed where he lies curled in on himself, no longer sobbing but softly crying. I lay down to match the curve of his back and I trace his hipbone with a finger, an intimate but not sexual gesture, an invitation to figure this out. He reaches for my hand and I give it to him. I'm now reaching over him, hugging him from behind, and he is tracing my fingers with two of his. There is a flash of emotion and heat that runs through my hand and arm, and I gasp and he rolls over to face me.

"You feel that." His dark eyes have no light in them.

"Yes. What is it?"

"A kiss." I'm wracked with pain and out of my mind with emotion, and I really can't talk about kissing, about anything, before I figure out if I can even look at him. His eyes are so dead, they seem completely not his. His are always twinkling. His fingers draw my hair back from my face, and then I feel another jolt, this time in my temple. It's unexpected, but nothing frightens me right now. Nothing and everything.

"I would like to show you." His voice is grave and seductive, and I try to avoid it. It's always been my undoing, that delicious voice.

His fingers slide along my temple and he literally shows me, literally shares, his dark feelings of deep regret, self-hatred, shame. And then my mind slips into a memory. His memory.

I'm standing in a corridor outside engineering in a cloud of smoke, my uniform singed and my face streaked with tears. I'm in obvious pain. There are a lot more people around me in the same condition. We'd escaped a fire with our lives. This was a long time ago. A year? I'm seeing myself from his point of view, and I feel the way he feels for me in that moment. I am inside his mind, watching me, thinking I'm so delicate, so lovely, so sexually charged. He lusts for me, covets me, thinks I'm smart, strong, pretty. I didn't know he knew me, saw me at all, and so long ago. I feel him remember always wanting to take me, following me sometimes, putting himself in my way. But at the moment, outside engineering, just wanting desperately to hold me and stop my pain. I feel his heart clench at the thought that he can do no such thing.

In an instant I travel to a recent time, in the shuttle. I see myself running a diagnostic while he waits, spread naked, tied to his seat. Through him, I remember his humiliation but also awe at my brazenness. I feel his raw need, his throbbing, his anger. And unexpectedly I feel his gratefulness for what I am doing to him, forcefully breaking him down. I wait with him, until I return, and I see my face differently. The memory changes to being untied, and a powerful wave rushing through his mind and heart upon release. As I kiss his wrists and thighs, he yields to me. Something snags in my mind, a thought, that's when he fell in love with me. Through his memory I feel his current thoughts, mainly surprise. He did not realize that was the moment of turning, had thought he'd fallen in love with me later, when I began staying with him in his quarters, his bed.

I draw back to look at him on this stained and beaten bed, and I know that we are not the same as before. He has done something hard and vicious to me, and I am participating with him in this intense and life-threatening experience, and it's changing us. Right now I don't forgive him. I feel stupid, not for letting him use me, but for my answer when the doctor asked if I cared about Spock. I hadn't thought about it that way. And suddenly that seems really, really dumb. How could I have spent nearly every night with this incredible man and not thought about how I felt. The obvious answer is I love him. I have loved him as a sexy, strong, Vulcan hero. But now I can feel for him as a complicated, deeply ashamed person who also loves me. Who has loved me for a long time and never told me.

His eyes awake with their usual glimmer and he pulls me to him. I tense for a moment, and I feel him cringe inwardly at what he's done to me. I can still feel echoes of how he sees me. Right now, he sees me afraid of him, and it hurts. I decide that whatever we come to know and feel, right now I'm going to trust him. I'm not repelled. I'm still with him. I roll on top of him and take him into my sore body, for the first time as a true lover, in every sense of the word.

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Reviews that existed for this section:

hot4edward:

How did I miss this vital point of the story? Uhura is a brave woman. Spock must be awed, amazed and blessed to have such a woman stand by his side through all of this.

Spockchick:

This is a difficult read, but I think it is fantastic. Beautifully done and to be able to paint a beautiful picture of a nameless character is real talent, like the main character in "Rebecca" who also has no name.


	17. Sex and the Single Vulcan, part VII

_Disclaimers in previous chapters._

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**Chapter 17. Sex and the Single Vulcan, part VII**

This chapter was written by **TalesFromTheSpockSide**.

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I'm sunk deep in warm, soft sleep and a gentle touch slips into my awareness. Physical touch. I drift further toward consciousness, unwilling to move any part of my aching body, drinking in the smell of clean sheets and clean bodies and feeling the heat of Spock's body beside mine.

He touches me again, the tips of his fingers tracing my collarbone, brushing the front of the nightshirt I have on. I can barely hear him breathing, quietly, steadily, not aroused, just wakeful. Even turning my head or opening my eyes seems like too much effort, so I lie on my back and just feel his light attentions and allow myself to wander back toward sleep.

His hand is never, ever cold, but right now it's as hot as when I first entered his quarters, days ago. Long fingers work the buttons on the front of my shirt open; he eases his hand under it to touch my breast, again lightly, as if curious, discovering its shape and warmth. First his fingers, then his palm, circles my soft flesh, exploring, enjoying, now the other breast, and he lays open the shirt to bare my body to his sight.

I'm still semi-conscious and my body seems unresponsive, except for a lovely comfortableness and languor. My eyes open a little, adjust to the darkness, make out his face and form. His long body is warm against me; he's leaning up to look at my body, almost reverently. His eyes come up to meet mine and he touches my lips with his fingers, softly, and I kiss them, softly.

He returns his attention to my breasts. With the side of his hand, the backs of his fingers, he caresses their curves, the cleft between, closing and cupping his palm around each one in turn. I sigh; it's sweet and warm and delicious, though it's not enough to wake me completely.

Until I feel his fingers against a nipple, brushing, stroking, and he hears my sharp breath and smiles down at me as his hand keeps moving, coaxing my skin to swell and firm up, sending an instant streak of arousal through me. I go from sleepy and lazy to alert and hungry in seconds.

Spock shifts to sit up beside me so he can use both hands, massaging my breasts, pausing to stroke and flick my throbbing nipples, teasing, playful almost. I resist the urge to bring my own hands to join the orgy, resting them on my stomach while my chest rises and falls with ever-quickening breath.

The pressure increases slightly as he slides my nipples between his fingers, squeezing gently, pulling up a little and releasing them. A moan escapes me and I arch my back under his touch, begging for more. One of his hands leaves my breast and I feel heat between my legs as he insinuates his fingers into my wetness, dipping deeply, bringing them up to paint my juices on each nipple. My moan becomes a gasp, a whimper, as he stretches out beside me once again and lowers his dark head.

My heart pounds even harder; he hasn't touched anywhere but my breasts and my mound and I'm on the edge of orgasm already. Now his mouth is hovering over me; I can feel his breath on my skin and I arch again, urging him. He seems to deliberate for a moment, then his lips come down to kiss just the tip of my nipple, excruciatingly slowly, then the other; then he returns to the first one for a firmer kiss, then the other, and soon he's alternating and increasing contact, lips pulling and nipping, tongue, oh God, tongue, at last, flicking, tasting my fluid on me. His hand takes mine, brings it up to help, places my hands so I'm holding my breasts together and his mouth is traveling back and forth between them.

I'm rubbing my thighs together and I feel my eyes rolling back in pleasure; I've reached a plateau and I'm bathing in desire and stimulation. I want it to end. I want it to go on. I want it.

Spock's mouth, soft, sensuous, closes over my nipple and he sucks, not hard but firmly, and at the same time his fingers slip back between my legs, into darkness and heat, not pressing, just touching, and it detonates every nerve in my body. My hands leap to grab his shoulders, his head, as my hips buck against his hand and my breasts against his tongue, and I cry out his name.

His arms catch hold of me as the wave subsides; his warmth encircles me, settling me once more for sleep. But I'm still awake, a little, I know I am, when I hear his deep, husky voice say in my ear, "I love you. I love you."

I've never dreamed of hearing that.

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hot4edward:

We all dream of hearing Spock say that to us!

ejectingthecore:

Oh, yum. Guh, loving Spock.

Nyotarules:

Lucky ensign! Good to see them go from raw sex to love...was hoping it was not just a fling.


	18. Sex and the Single Vulcan, part VIII

_Disclaimers in previous chapters._

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**Chapter 18. Sex and the Single Vulcan, part VIII**

This part was written by **TalesFromTheSpockSide**.

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Last night, he climaxed so many times I lost count. Tonight, he's on a mission to hold back.

I told him about a book my roommate loaned me called _Life's Too Short For Tantric Sex_, about the virtues of quickie sex, and he admits to knowing a bit about the concept of tantra.

"There have been times when such techniques have been useful in prolonging pleasure for my partner or myself," he says. For a change of scenery, we're lying on a pile of pillows and blankets in the living area, so we can look out at the stars. He lies on his back as if sunbathing and I'm on my belly, head on my arms, drowsy.

"I can see that," I say reluctantly. "But I usually have the opposite problem, I want it now, wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am, get on with my life. Instant gratification."

"Since that urge brought us together, I can hardly dispute its relevance," he says. I grin and roll over to kiss him. He adds, "Perhaps you would like to describe some of these 'quickies'."

"Actually - " How could I be bashful saying this, after all I've been through so far? " - um, a lot of them have been - solo experiences."

"Masturbatory, in fact."

"Indeed. Sometimes, if you want a job done right," and my grin broadens, "you gotta do it yourself."

"For example?"

I flip through my memory and come up with one of my favorites. "I was in a simulator at the Academy, learning to pilot a single-seat runner. I had three tries and the highest score would determine the level I'd advance to. On the first one I got a near-perfect score, but I figured I'd take the other two chances as well, maybe see if I could hit perfect. Besides, it was fun.

"The second sim, I had a chance to pay attention to more than the controls. The safety straps - do you know the inside of those runners?"

"I do. They are uncomfortably small."

"Yep. And the sim had seen so much use that the straps were screwed up, people adjusting them, twisting them around, just messing things up. The one that goes between the pilot's legs was practically in a knot and too tight. So on the second flight, I tried scooting my butt back on the seat, but I kept sliding back down. Against the strap.

"By the time the second flight ended, I had an idea and I asked for one more try. The proctors can't see inside the module, you know, only the nav readings. I strapped in and this time, I pushed myself down against that strap and rode it. It was a five-minute sim," I smile, remembering. "I came twice, once with my hand between the strap and my body, once with just the strap."

Spock looks at me with something like admiration. "You find satisfaction in interesting places," he says.

"I hope the next person in that simulator was male. It smelled pretty good when I was done with it."

That makes him laugh. I'm on a roll. I'm glad we still remember how to laugh.

"Then there was the time I was under the covers in my quarters, and my roommate and her latest trick came barreling in ripping each other's clothes off."

"Bent on copulation, one presumes."

"One does. I pulled the blanket up over my head and prayed it would be a quickie; it was no use popping out to yell at them, they were too far gone already. I could hear them, though." I lick my lips. "She was a real babbler. She kept bossing him, telling him what she wanted, and it sounded like she was getting it."

"Indeed?" Amazing how he can make that word sound so lascivious.

"Oh, yeah. 'Whip out that thing, baby.' 'Oh my gods, look at the size of you.' 'Suck my tits, now, right now!'"

He's grinning again, at my imitation.

"Then she'd give him feedback. 'Oh, baby, right there, more, no, harder, no, ow!'"

He's lost control and his whole body is shaking with laughter.

"And then she lost patience with him. 'For fuck's sake, would you fucking fuck me already?!!'"

He howls and rolls over on his face.

"So while she was making all this noise, I decided I might as well have some fun too, so I whipped off my regulation panties and got both my hands busy down there and came just as she did. I think. Either that or she was faking it really, really well."

Spock raises his head and looks at me, still chuckling, and says, "You are delightful."

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Reviews:

hot4edward:

Love this chapter! Imagine Spock laughing his head off!


	19. Sex and the Single Vulcan, part IX

_Disclaimers in earlier chapters. _

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**Chapter 19. Sex and the Single Vulcan, part IX**

This chapter was written by **ejectingthecore**.

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"Then there was the first time I fantasized about you."

That makes him prick up his ears. If that were even possible.

"It was longer ago than you think."

One eyebrow raises and he gets the smuggest grin I've ever seen.

"You like that, don't you?"

I sit up, my legs stretched out before me, and he lays his head in my lap. He laughs, nearly under his breath, and closes his eyes like a cat.

"You were leaving with a landing party, to meet with the planet's royalty. You were in dress uniform, so luscious in that perfect baby blue. You look hottest, simply beautiful in that uniform. It's really perfectly fitted to show off your pecs...I didn't realize that just yet. Scott had me in the transporter room fixing a simple busted fuse. Any of you idiots could have fixed it yourselves." Spock smiles, eyes still closed. "But I was sent, and boy was I glad I went. I was down on the floor, looking up at you. You came to stand behind the control panel, check it out, and my view was sweet."

Spock keeps his eyes closed, turns his head to lean contentedly on my thighs. He looks like a child listening to a bedtime story. I lazily run my fingers through his silky hair, trace his alien ears, while I speak.

"First I noticed your rugged boots, right in my face. Your feet were planted so confidently, just slightly apart, and the boots were so solid and masculine, I felt a stirring in my chest, something thrilling just beginning. My eye roamed higher. And higher, and higher. You know about the breathtaking sexiness of your long legs. From below they look even more incredible. I looked up and up until I reached your thighs, strong inside the black of your well-fitted pants. I could just see your hips, your waist, the beginning of your delectable blue dress jacket. It was all I could do not to turn to you and take hold of one of your legs."

He murmurs, _mmmmm_.

"I was surprised."

Without opening his eyes, he raises an eyebrow again.

"All of us junior officers know our command crew is there, have met you now and then, but I'd never been close to you. You eat your meals in the senior officers' mess, your quarters are nowhere near the lower decks where I live. I didn't know you. From what I'd seen, I guessed you were distant, not sexual. But that day in the transporter room, underneath your strong legs, the electricity you were so effortlessly radiating made me realize my mistake."

The cat in my lap is amused.

"You beamed down to the planet. While you were no doubt nodding your pretty head at some dignitary, I was in a secluded storage unit in engineering with my hand in my wet panties, dreaming of you. I imagined what you would feel like, strong and hard under my hands, what you would look like taking off that silken blue jacket and throwing it on the floor next to your bed. You would spread out on the sheets, so tall and slim and fine. What you would do to me... I'd sit on the bed, and you would come kneel between my legs. Turn me on my tummy and bend me over the bed, and from behind you would fuck me with your tongue. I got to the part where you added your fingers, pulling your tongue out, separating my lips, then plunging back in. That was about where the fantasy ended, because I came with a gale force and nearly shouted your name into the echoing vastness of main engineering."

He opens his eyes to gaze at me. "You are adorable."

He gets up off my lap, pulls me up to sit on the edge of the bed. "Sit," he says "Spread your legs." He kneels between my knees, smiles, and proceeds to give me everything I envisioned so long ago.

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Prior reviews for this chapter:

hot4edward:

I think it's funny that he thinks she's "adorable" when recounting her fantasies about him.

ejectingthecore:

You are correct, my friend, too much lusciousness (can there be?) I'll ask TFTSS to fix for me. It's odd, I always try to be more articulate about his beauty. I must have been off that day.

VERENNA

Somebody said Uhura? This is TOS, and a lucky ensign. Not Uhura. Am I wrong?

Perhaps the word luscious 3 times is too much? There are so many words to use to describe him and his... long legs and bodily parts.

Do you have a kink for boots? Does the man sleep?

My favorite, his shoulders shaking when he noticed the cameras were on. Shameless Vulcan.


	20. Sex and the Single Vulcan, part X

Disclaimers in earlier chapters.

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**Chapter 20. Sex and the Single Vulcan, part X**

This chapter written by **TalesFromTheSpockSide**.

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Spock lies under me, grinning like a fool; I've come twice while riding him and he's still delaying his own gratification.

I swing my leg over him and position myself over his sex. "So how do you explain your current situation, Commander?"

I can't help but grin as he tugs on the tie-downs he's buckled into. "I cannot," he says plaintively. "I can only assume that the restraints were required during an act I do not recall."

"Shall I tell you?"

He eyes me suspiciously. "Do I have a choice?"

"Well, then," I begin, sitting on his hip bones; his thighs are strapped down, so he can't bounce me off. "We were having breakfast, I think it was, and you asked me if I still had the tie downs from the shuttle. They were in my bag, I said, and you went and got them out. I think you were considering using them on me."

"I may yet."

"Dream on. Sir. And you found something else in my bag, something I forgot I brought with me. Something I was saving."

"Chocolate syrup," he says, as though suddenly remembering.

"Mm-hmm. So you started to insinuate that there was no time like the present - "

"I do not insinuate."

"You did this morning. And I said you'd have to catch me first."

Which he had, of course, having longer legs and arms and a better knowledge of the terrain. He grabbed me around the waist and tossed me on the bed, held me down - admittedly, I didn't struggle very hard - and proceeded to apply chocolate to various parts of my anatomy, following each application by cleaning it off with his tongue, of course. By the time he had treated all his favorite spots he was positively silly, and I'd had one orgasm and was hoping for more soon.

"By then," I finished up, "it was easy to talk you into lying down and letting me put the straps on. You're a fun drunk, baby. And you recover pretty quickly. Only an hour ago you were wasted."

"I am pleased that you enjoyed the experience. May I be released now?"

"Oh, you're not done yet." I reach for the bottle of syrup. "Open your hand." He does, and as it lies palm up on the bed I drizzle some chocolate over it, then scoot down to lie on his belly and lick the chocolate off his hand, slowly, listening to him purr like the panther I once compared him to. While I'm down there, I pour a dollop of syrup on his flat stomach and draw circles in it like finger painting; his abs heave as I lick and suck him clean and he gasps and squirms.

"Mercy," he whispers and I give him a wicked grin and shake my head. The chocolate traces a line down the inside of his arm next, then his clavicle, then I spend some time hovering over him on all fours, letting him taste the chocolate flavor of my mouth.

"Now," I whisper, "I have one more thing in my bag that you missed, that I brought just in case this very situation presented itself." I go retrieve the item in question and its accessory, keeping them out of his line of sight. I sit on his belly, facing away from him so he can't see what I'm up to, and say over my shoulder, "I'm going to release the straps over your thighs now." There's some slack on the straps around his ankles, and as I release the thigh restraint I order him, "Bend your knees and spread them, please."

He breathes deeply as he obeys and I ready my toy. I slide back until my behind is on his chest, so I can trickle chocolate on his thighs, my tongue making a wet path as I lap it up. His length is so ready it's bumping against my chin. Obligingly I stow the bottle of syrup and curl my fingers around his shaft, bringing it up to vertical. I know better than to lay down any chocolate here, but my tongue gives him the treatment anyway, sucking my way up the sides and flicking over his head. I can hear him whimpering. It's the most beautiful sound in the universe. I lift my body so that I'm straddling his face, just out of reach, and his whimper deepens to a hopeless groan.

"Please..."

Since he asks so nicely, I give it to him. Not my sex, which remains out of reach, but my mouth, pulling him in an inch at a time and nearly releasing him, then going back down for more. His thighs are clenched but he's keeping them apart to make room for my head as I savor him. I glance down to see that his eyes are closed and then deploy my secret weapon.

Spock's voice rings out, nearly a scream, as I take the vibrator, not activated yet, soaked in lubricant, and press it against his anus, circling, pushing, keeping hold of his cock with my mouth, the best balancing act I've ever done. The tool slides into him and the grunts and gasps he emits are even more beautiful than his whimper. I close my eyes and feel my way, sinking the slim tool further until I think I've hit his sweet spot. Then my lips and tongue get a firm grip on his cock as my thumb flips the on switch.

The gush of his hot come in my mouth tells me my aim is true. The sound of the wrist restraints snapping, as his hands seize my hips and yank my sex down against his mouth, tells me we're going to need new toys.

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Prior reviews:

hot4edward:

Yummy chapter!


	21. Sex and the Single Vulcan, part XI

Disclaimers in earlier chapters.

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**Chapter 21. Sex and the Single Vulcan, part XI**

This chapter was written by **ejectingthecore**.

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It's a good thing we played earlier. That night, things go dark again.

He rolls me over on my back and dives into me for what seems like the millionth time. I'm not even sore any more, simply numb. It's a mercy. His body is alarmingly hot and heavy and his chest rams against my face. In a moment of lucidity, he pulls back to look at me, panting, "McCoy told you, at times I will be completely overtaken by my body..." As he thrusts he looks into my eyes. He looks apologetic. It scares me. "I can feel one of those... periods coming on." His eyes are bright with tears that don't fall yet. "Remember....remember...I love you." It sends a jolt through my body, and I can nearly forget, for just a moment, what he's telling me - that he is about to go into a clouded, dark time. Saying that he loves me - I cherish these words, but this time they sound like fingers scrabbling at the edge of a cliff.

Spock comes with a loud grunt, but I know he'll be ready to go again, immediately. What follows will be fucking. Uncontrolled, savage fucking. I hear the doctor in my head.

"He may have periods where he doesn't know who you are...or care....He may say or do things that will hurt you, emotionally or physically."

I now know what this really means, and it's about to happen again. My insides close up, as if my mind and soul are curling into a tiny ball even as I leave my body open for his use. I feel sick. I tell him, "I love you, too." Before he slips away, I grab his hand and kiss the back of it. I whisper, "Don't be afraid."

We both know he can't say the same to me. It's going to be terrifying and painful for me, the one who will be present for it. But I mean it, when I say it to him. I want him to do what he has to, without shame and without fear of what I will think of him.

And then it's begun.

"Your legs...high in the air, spread wide." I do what I need to do. "Wider," he growls and grabs my thighs and pushes them apart, hard. I bend my knees. "Keep them up." He grabs my feet and puts them where he wants them. Then starts plunging into me, and his eyes glaze over and he's gone.

Some time later, my legs are shaking in near collapse, when he tires of this way of doing things. "Hands and knees," he barks, and I do it. He starts into me again, and I'm too close to the head of the bed. I start knocking into the headboard every time he pushes into me. During normal lovemaking, it would be comical, embarrassing at worst. Now it seems life threatening. I don't need him to stop fucking me. I can't feel that anymore, except as an insistent pressure. No, I need him to move me away from the wall. I turn my shoulders as far as possible so my head doesn't take the brunt of it. My shoulder is banging into the wall over and over and the pain is throbbing and soon the headboard cracks. I try to crawl away, to get out of the way before it breaks into pieces. Or before I do.

"Hold still," he growls. He pushes me face first into the bed, wraps a hand around the back of my neck and presses down. The bed is warm and inviting and I'm glad that it gives way to my head, gives me room to escape a bit into its softness. He pulls my hips up, positions me on my knees, head down, and fucks me more, and more, and more. I start humming into the mattress and allowing my face to go slack, until finally he climaxes again, yells out in conquest, pulls out of me, and pushes me out of his way so he can lie down. He falls asleep.

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Prior reviews:

hot4edward:

Oh, I was worried he was trying to suffocate her! At least she's prepared for these dark times, knows what to expect. And thank god Spock can recognize when he's about to completely lose control and warn her with his reminder of his love. I hope Spock has enough control not to kill her.


	22. Sex and the Single Vulcan, part XII

_Disclaimers in earlier chapters. _

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Chapter 22. Sex and the Single Vulcan, part XII

This chapter written by ejectingthecore.

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I'm curled up in pain, holding as still as possible while I ride the waves in my body, attempting to call no attention to myself. Spock is unbelievably, actually spent and has put on clothes for the first time in days. A robe, which at this particular time makes him look even more beautiful than when he's nude. I think I've seen enough of his naked body for a while. I'm not sure I even want to see his face, which is saying a lot. His eyes, I can't turn away from. If he comes to me, I'll look at his eyes.

I hear him pacing the room, settling on running a bath. After a short time he does come to me and I do focus on his eyes, which are full of regret and hope at once, a potent mix of emotion. So emotional, I worry that this is not finished. He picks me up, cradles me in his arms, and carries me to the tub. It's funny how you notice little things. I note it's set at 319 K. A good hot, literally steaming. He places me gently in the hardly-full bath, and the water sears my skin and makes my body forget its pain and soreness for a wonderful moment.

He kneels next to the tub and begins to clean me. With a small hot towel, he washes one of my hands, picks up my arm and runs the towel slowly up, soaking his heavy sleeves. Cleanses my aching clavicle so gently I hardly shudder. My neck. Incredibly softly, his voice breaking like rocks, he says, "I have hurt you." He dips the towel in the steaming water and runs its roughness across one breast, so tenderly. "I have beaten all of the most precious places on your body." His eyes are full of tears and he hangs his head, then picks it up with determination and moves to wash my other arm, hand, and then my feet and legs. When he reaches my crotch he begins to lift one of my legs and I wince. He looks at me gravely and asks, "Do you wish for me not to touch you there?" I see the desperation and also willingness in his eyes. He'll do anything I ask right now. "I will never touch you there again, if that is what you wish."

"Not now, Spock...But it's not forever."

His body gives ever so slightly in relief.

"I told you I love you, and I still mean it," I tell him.

He looks away. His hand grips the tub, and I grab it and tell him forcefully, so he really, seriously gets it. "Spock, what we did was very hard for me. And for you. But we did it."

Without looking at me he says, "I did it _to_ you. Unconscionable things. I could have killed you."

"Well, I'm stronger than that..." I pause and then tell him with deep conviction and pride, "Don't think I wasn't part of this. I was there, even when you weren't." His shoulders tense and I realize how that sounded. "I don't mean you had it easy. I just mean...We faced our darkest hour." He remains looking away. I reach for his wrist and hide how it hurts to move. "Come back." He turns back to me, and he's crying again, silently and just a little, and his tears continue as he finishes laving my stomach, then runs more water to cover me. He runs a thumb across my cheekbone, stares into me, then silently stands and leaves the room.

I soak and think about us and begin to sob, letting out just a little of the mass of pain I have to dispel. Enough to go on for a little longer, until he leaves and I can explode and gush and sob uninhibited. Not because I'll hide it from him. It's just the kind of purging I need to do by myself. Letting a little of it out feels good, just like sinking into the burning water.

When Commander Spock enters the bathroom again, he is in uniform and his face is transformed. It stings, but just for a second. He says he will see me in approximately eight and one-tenth hours. I tell him that if he runs it could be 8 hours and 1 minute, and he raises one eyebrow and looks off as if considering it. "Eight and one-tenth." He gives me one of his usual, slight smiles. I sigh and sink into the water again. As he walks away I whisper, "I love you," and I know he can hear me. Below his exterior he's wracked with so many hard emotions it would be impossible to understand them, parse them. I leave them there and concentrate on my own, and we part company for a while. I believe we can put us back together. Over time. I want to, and he does too; we desperately _want_ to. And because of that, and our unstoppable combined strength, I don't think it will actually take long.

I hear the door swish shut. The man who says _I love you_ with abandon is gone. But the man I love is still there.

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Prior reviews:

hot4edward:

Is pon farr over? Or has it settled down to a light simmer to allow him to resume some normal activities?


	23. Sex and the Single Vulcan, part XIII

_Disclaimers in earlier chapters. _

_

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_

**Chapter 23. Sex and the Single Vulcan part XIII  
**

This chapter written by **TalesFromTheSpockSide**.

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_  
_

Spock told me I should rest, stay in his quarters, but I have no intention of staying put. I'm getting cabin fever.

I put on the loose clothing I arrived in, but I don't pack up my belongings just yet. I need a professional opinion. I head to Sickbay.

Once there, I open my mouth to speak to the nurse, only to be preempted by a grumbly voice from behind him. "I was just about to go looking for you," says McCoy, coming out his office. "Come with me."

He leads me to the private ward, asking on the way, "How do you feel?"

"Okay. No major damage."

"We'll see about that. I was monitoring Spock's work log and saw that he'd reported to the bridge, so I expected I'd see you pretty soon." He tells me to undress and get up on the bed. I'm getting used to his bedside manner; he's one of those men whose gruff exterior is designed to conceal and protect his compassionate insides. I do as I'm told and sit demurely, naked, ankles crossed, hands folded in my lap.

He spends a little time running a scanner over me, then asks me to lie on my back, which I do. He looks down at me with those baby blues and smiles a little, a sympathetic smile.

"Listen, scanners are pretty thorough, but there's no substitute for a first-hand physical examination."

"You want to check – down here – for damage." I'm suddenly shy about using sexual language. I indicate the area between my legs and he nods.

"If you're comfortable with that. I won't do anything you don't want me to do."

"Go right ahead, Doc. " I think, _it can't be any more painful than anything else that's been done to me_. I close my eyes and relax as he makes his examination; when he's done he pats my knee as if I were a skittish horse and says, "Good," but his face is sober.

"Ensign, have you engaged in anal activity before?" he asks. I nod. He adds, "With Spock?"

"And one other before I knew him."

"Well, there's been some tearing, which I'm sure you knew about. I have something topical you can use on it, and I wouldn't advise repeating the activity for at least a month. Otherwise, you're about as bruised and battered as I expected. I'm going to need something to fix a hairline fracture in your clavicle. You can put your clothes back on if you like." He leaves the room, to get some equipment, I presume.

I dress and sit back down, then lie down. I've never had a lover who necessitated medical treatment before. At least my sense of humor seems to have survived intact. I smile to myself, remembering Spock in the restraints with a reproachful look on his face when I wouldn't let him loose.

"Glad you can still smile," comes McCoy's grumble as he returns with an osteoregenerator. "This'll sting, but it'll mend your bone enough so you can move without pain. You're not cleared for duty until I check it again in three days."

"Thanks, Doctor." I reach out to touch his hand and he looks at me, startled. I tell him, "It was all right. It wasn't fun – well, not always – but we got through it."

"Yeah, well," he says, his eyes returning to the device he's holding over my collarbone. "Sometimes I don't know if I want to give him a high-five or a slap in the face. I know this isn't his fault, but I hate having to fix you up because of him."

"Look on the bright side. It's over for another seven years. Or so."

"You're trying to reassure _me_?" He snorts. "You are something else, lady."

I grin at him; Spock has expressed similar sentiments over the last several days, although in different ways.

At last McCoy says, "Okay, you're done. For now. Go wait in my office and I'll get that topical for you."

I sit across from him at his desk once more, no specter this time, and he studies me for a minute as I stow the tube in my pocket.

"You really do care for him," he says. "Still."

"I love him, Doc." I can say that out loud now. It makes me feel confident. It seems to please McCoy, whose baby blues are close to their usual twinkling selves.

"Well, he'd better treat you right or I'll tan his Vulcan hide," he promises. "Anything else your old family doctor can do for you?"

"Well, since you ask – " I lean forward. I can't resist. "There's a rumor in Engineering about you."

"Really?"

"Is it true you keep a bottle of Old Ezra in your desk?"

He says indignantly, "Of course not." At my apparently disappointed expression he grins and reaches into a drawer. "Old Ezra is rotgut. My hooch of choice is Jim Beam."

"Great. Mr. Laurie owes me twenty credits."

McCoy laughs. "I'll drink to that." And we do.

Later that day, after stopping by my own quarters to pick up clean underwear and change into something less pajama-like, I'm sitting with some of my buddies in the officers' mess, various ranks and departments, mostly engineers - we speak the same language - and they're pestering me about why I've been out for several days.

"You look like you've been through a turbine," says my roommate. I suspect she's already spilled the beans about the scratches and bruises she glimpsed while I was changing. Note to self, I think: apply for roommate change.

"I'm just really tired," I say, which is the truth, although not the entire truth; I learned that trick from Spock. "It took a lot out of me. I'll be fine in a day or so." Also true.

"Were you sick?" asks Claire from Transport.

"Hey, were you on a mission?" says James. "One you can't talk about?"

"You could say that," I admit and get a few astonished looks, a few skeptical ones. We finish up our lunch break and split up, they to head back to work, me to return to Spock's quarters. I'm walking toward the mess hall exit with Claire when I see a tall figure in blue enter the room and look around. It's not our habit to ignore each other in public, but we don't make a point of interacting, either; I wonder whether things will be different now.

They _are_ different. He comes over to me and I look up at him and smile politely. He stops, as if to say something to me, then among a crowd of people, some of whom are staring, he lifts his hand and brushes the back of it over my cheek. It's as if he were kissing me in public; I feel myself flush all the way down to my toes. My polite smile is transformed into something warm and loving and private, and so is the look in his eyes.

"Carry on, Ensign," he says softly.

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Prior reviews:

Nyotarules

Wow Spock publically makes his claim! Roll on the sequel.

crypticnotions:

This was awesome; a very realistic portrayal of Pon Farr. I look forward to the sequel.

hot4edward:

Ah, sweet ending. I'm glad he didn't act like a stranger to her in public. Looking forward to more interaction in the future. Perhaps they will go public with their relationship - beyond the "kiss" they just shared? As in openly being seen together informally and formally?

aekohl:

God, I've loved this story. The absolutely heady mix of angst and romance was enough to bring any woman to her knees. My admiration to both authors... you've done beautiful work here.

Saavik13:

Love the McCoy interaction.

Mousling1014:

Ahh..you two have nailed this. I haven't reviewed before because I've been in WOW mode! Serious, sweet, funny, insightful, there's a richness to this story that's just delicious. Thank you TalesFromTheSpockSide, and thank you ejectingthecore for such a great story.

hopefuladdict:

The End! *uncontrolled sobbing* WTF you and etc are killing me, excuse me while I slink off to find some anti-depression medication of some kind...'oh look! Vodka!'

ejectingthecore

OK, I know this is my own story but I didn't write this part and I just have to say - GUH. A teeny brush on the face, so hot!


	24. Drill

Disclaimers in earlier chapters.

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**Chapter 24. Drill**

This chapter written by **ejectingthecore**.

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We're on the bridge. Alone, in dim half-light And that is just strange.

Though we're on a peaceful mission, every few months the crew needs to do battle drills, and this one is about relocating command to engineering if the bridge is incapacitated in a fight. It's a shipwide drill, but a command officer needs to stay on the real bridge, and so does one engineer.

I slowly circle the bridge, touching parts of it I never see up close. It looks eerie in the dark. "How did you get me assigned?" I ask Spock with a wicked grin.

"I highly recommended you as a qualified engineer," he says, with a hint of protest in his deep voice. I bask for a moment in the knowledge that he thinks I'm qualified, which is high praise.

"But seriously, by now the whole ship knows we're…involved. I can't believe the captain would allow this."

"Since it is merely a drill, the captain was easily persuaded. I pointed out that since I am the only individual aboard who has a comprehensive understanding of the computer that runs this ship's basic functions, I in essence control his oxygen supply."

I burst out laughing. "You joked with him!"

As usual when he's being deliberately obtuse, Spock doesn't say anything and raises one eyebrow.

I raise one myself and tell him, "You give new meaning to the phrase "getting a rise out of a guy.'"

His other eyebrow joins the first and I crack up even more. Though he doesn't show it, I know he loves making me happy.

He has an incredible, odd sense of humor and I'm one of the very, very lucky few who get to experience it. As I walk around the bridge, slowly exploring it in the dark, I realize how very odd my paramour is. He's handsome and funny and brilliant and one hell of a lover, but in this half-light I see, perhaps for the first time, how he is an alien. The visible signs don't only include his charming ears and eyebrows. His whole body is different, held differently than a Human's. And it seems to me there is no other way a lover should be. He is right to me.

And he comes to me and hugs me, just hugs me in a way that we have learned to be, somewhere between intimate friends and the promise of life-changing sex. The place we are most of the time, close and in love. We've earned it, through hard experience, and we are comfortable in it.

And then his hug begins to change into something more…interesting. One hand slides down my back and cups my bottom and he pulls me to him, his hips pushing into me near my waist, where I've learned, since he is so inhumanly tall, to feel his warmth and his arousal. I feel it now.

"On the bridge, Commander?"

I'm flirting incorrigibly, but I'm truly surprised. It seems so inappropriate. So deliciously inappropriate.

He is serious and desiring. "At my station," he says and flashes his eyes to where he wants me to go. I've seen him work there before, ogled him the few times I've been sent to the bridge to fix something basic, a blinking light or malfunctioning recorder that keeps the captain from dictating his, I'm sure fascinating, logs. I've had a hard time working with Spock's incredible ass in the room.

I disentangle myself from him and go to his station, turn and look at him mischievously.

"I suppose, in the pursuit of scientific inquiry--"

"--Remove your tights and underwear, Ensign." Damn! His deadpan delivery can make reading a computer printout sound hot, and when he utters these words I'm wet in seconds. I slide my boots off to get to the tights and panties and throw them aside. He waits silently and flicks his baby browns again, this time toward my boots. Ah, he wants me to put them back on, and I do, now feeling especially naked and naughty in this sacrosanct place. This shadowy bridge.

He approaches me like a cat about to pounce, then just before he reaches me he descends to the floor and closes the last meter between us on his hands and knees and I'm destroyed. How does he make every second of our time together more erotic than the last?

He arrives at my body and begins running his hands, starting at my ankles, up and up. He takes his sweet time. "I want to see you here, so that when I work I will remember your body against my instruments." I shudder as he reaches my upper thighs, pushes my skirt aside. "Open your legs." I do, and he takes me with his hot tongue. I've felt it so many times I can't count, but this time is fresh and sexy because of where we are, what he has said. I lean back on the surface where he works and give in to the heat of his mouth, making lazy circles and then diving in, over and over. And soon I'm grinding my back into the console and my sex into his face and I'm soaring and my eyes close and I fly into an explosive orgasm that rocks me against the place he works. Idiotically, right afterwards I think about how I must have wrecked something that I'll have to fix later, and I smile thinking about touching the instruments that he will touch tomorrow.

He quickly brings me back with his sultry voice. "Now...where do you want _me_?"

I don't know where it comes from, but I tell him, "I want to see the stars."

The view screen is displaying what's outside, and he simply leads me by the hand to the captain's chair. He opens his pants, pulls them down just enough to expose himself to me, his full erection waiting for me. He loves pleasing me with his mouth, and it's made him rock hard and it makes me want to weep with pleasure.

"Turn around," he says, and I obey that velvet voice like always. "Sit down." I hesitate and he clarifies. "Sit on my cock." Oh dear, oh oh oh what this man does to me when he uses that dirty term. That he uses it judiciously is an incredible technique for killing me dead. I back up into the chair and he guides me with his strong hands, back and down onto him, and when I feel him begin to slide into my wetness-fantastic now that he has made me come with his tongue-I fall into a whining, delicious bliss. He's so good. So good. Every other woman in the galaxy has no idea what she's missing.

My feet are off the floor, and this position would not work except that he is strong enough to hold me up, use my hips and his hips to move us together in grinding rapture. I'm panting, head hanging in resignation to the ecstasy. He tells me, "Look up." And I do, and the stars are rushing right at us while I come and come and come.


	25. Word Is Out

_Disclaimers in earlier chapters._

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**Chapter 25. Word Is Out.**

This chapter written by **TalesFromTheSpockSide**

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"I guess the word is out."

I look up from my meal to see Dr. McCoy standing beside me with a tray. I motion for him to sit and he does, and I ask, "What word. doc?"

"That you and Spock are, um, seeing each other."

He's the only one who really knows just how much of each other we're seeing. He is my doctor, after all, and he helped us both get through Spock's pon farr, a month ago now.

"We haven't tried to hide it. Much. Even before," I say, and he knows what I mean: before the biological crisis that threatened to tear me and Spock apart, but instead knitted us even closer together.

"I know, but things have changed. You two are seen in each other's company. He calls you by your first name; he's been spotted touching your hand in public on rare occasions. One of those Vulcan finger kisses?"

"Holy smokes, doc, you're like the top man on the gossip chain." I stare at him. "You'd think no two crewmates had ever hooked up together on this ship. Why are people gossiping about us?"

"Are you kidding?" McCoy snorts. "You know how the female contingent lusts after Spock. That's how you caught his eye, isn't it? And the men are all wondering, what does Spock have that I don't?"

I laugh, genuinely amused. What Spock has is indescribable and ineffable and all mine.

"And both sides are looking at you and wondering, how did she snag the second most powerful man on this ship? And a supposedly emotionless Vulcan at that?"

"Oh, for crying out loud," I say. "It's nobody's business but ours. Let 'em wonder."

"Just keep telling yourself that, sweetheart," McCoy mutters as I bid him farewell.

*

I report to Engineering, where at least I can count on Mr. Scott not to take an interest in my personal life. Although the odd look he gives me today makes me wonder.

"All right then, lass," he says, handing me a padd with a work order on it. "Yer to see Dr. McCoy first thing. He's got a dodgy whoozawhatsis. And don't dawdle on the way back, because I've got you lot starting on evaluations this afternoon."

Mine isn't the only groan heard; one of my girlfriends is waiting for her assignment as well. I wait for her and ask, as we turn toward the lift, "What did you get?"

"Bridge. Believe it or not. Mr. Chekov's been trying to lure me up there all week, and Scotty actually bought his story about the tactical telltales acting up."

We get in the lift and I say, "Sickbay".

She says, "Bridge. What's going on in Sickbay?"

"Scotty wasn't specific, said it was a whoozawhatsis." We both laugh.

"Seriously," she says. "Want to trade?"

I look at her suspiciously. "What's the catch? Everybody likes working the bridge. It's clean, it's quiet, it has the nicest head on the whole ship."

"No catch. I'm just tired of Chekov's little games. Besides," she looks at me sideways, "isn't your boyfriend on shift this morning?"

The down side of people knowing about me and Spock is that they make all kinds of assumptions. Like if we're on the same task together we're automatically going to drop everything and jump each other. As if. Usually we're nowhere near on the same task when the jumping occurs.

Still.

"Okay," I say. "But let's meet up after in case Scotty drills us on the results."

We swap padds and she goes off to Sickbay, and I ride to the bridge with a light heart. Focus, girl, focus, I tell myself. You're there for the job, no funny business, get in, get a look at your Vulcan, get it done.

I step down into the command pit and tell the captain, "Reporting as ordered, sir, per Mr. Chekov's service request." The long blue spine at Science doesn't so much as twitch. Not that I notice.

"Carry on, Ensign," the captain says absently, reading through a report. I proceed to Tactical, where Chekov is trying not to look too disappointed.

"Would you mind shutting down the main power to the console?" I ask sweetly. I try not to barge in on other people's territory unless I have to. He starts the power down sequence and asks, "Thanks for coming so quickly. I was expecting..."

"I know, Mr. Chekov." We're the same rank, but it pays to be respectful to the command crew. On an impulse I lean closer, as if studying the panel, and say quietly, "She's seeing somebody, kind of seriously now, so I think maybe you should look somewhere else for companionship. Just a word to the wise." I don't know if that's true, but if it's a lie it's meant kindly.

He smiles a little wryly. "Am I so obvious?"

"Not really," I tell him. "But before you get obvious..."

"Noted and logged," he says and helps me pry off the cover below his console. "I'm going to go on break for a bit, stay out of your way," he adds. "Good luck."

Yeah, good luck finding anything actually wrong with this unit, I think, but I feel I should make a show of inspecting it. I wore a skirt today instead of pants, so I scoot under the panel with my feet toward the main viewscreen, so as not to display all my aft charms to the captain, Lt. Uhura, and Mr. Sulu. It pays to be nice to the command crew, but within reason.

I spend a little time poking and cleaning out circuitry, reset the display node, just for show. I don't really have an excuse to linger; I close the panel and prepare to scoot out from under the console headfirst. I look up to be sure I have clearance and am met with my favorite pair of clear brown eyes, upside down, but nevertheless a delight to behold.

Spock extends a hand to help me up and I dust myself off and reactivate the console. He's returned to his station without a word; he picks up a padd and heads for the turbolift. I know better than to accompany him right away; no use being obvious about hanging around each other, I think. I'll get my chance later. Meanwhile, it's been an easy job and a pleasant half hour, and I chat with Chekov and Sulu a bit before securing my tools and going over to the lift myself.

*

The lift door swishes open and I step in; it swishes shut again and I'm opening my mouth to say, "Engineering," when a long arm snakes around me from behind, a hand closes gently over my mouth, and I feel lips against my neck, warm Vulcan lips. I giggle.

He turns me around, gives me a stern look and presses the halt switch on the lift panel. How long has he been lurking in here, waiting for me? I put my arms around his waist and he leans to whisper in my ear.

"I believe you were trying to avoid indecent exposure by orienting your body as you did under the console," he purrs. "However, you overlooked the aspect you did present toward the command area. Fortunately, the captain was occupied at the Engineering station for some time and did not enjoy the view that I did."

View? I give him a puzzled frown and he lays his hand on my face, strokes it down my throat, draws the backs of his fingers over the skin just above the neckline of my uniform. Traces the line between my breasts, making me shiver.

"You lay on your back, your face and breasts and arms filling my view," he murmurs, "and I was moved to imagine you thus in my bed, with your head back, laughing, tipping up your chin to look at me upside down," and he's pulling me into his embrace, hands caressing me up and down, "and I looked forward to tasting your womanhood while your mouth is enjoying this," and he presses his hidden hardness against my belly. I squirm eagerly against him and he lifts me nearly off my feet, curving his shoulders to bend his head to my mouth.

I giggle some more. The dichotomy between his public and private personae is delicious. Not that I'm surprised that he's a great lover - not at all! - but that I was surprised in the beginning to discover his sense of humor and ability to seduce.

"That mouth," I murmur during a very brief break in the festivities.

"Yes?" he inquires during the next break, and he draws back an inch or so to look at me.

"I fell in love with that mouth. Just watching you talk turns me on."

His eyebrow goes up and he obligingly waits while I trace his lips with a finger. He can control the rest of his expression, but the shape of his mouth is irreparable, sensuous, promising. I lay my lips against it, lightly, and he tilts his chin to stroke our lips together. I shiver again.

"Perhaps later I may satisfy your craving," he whispers. "For now, we should not linger; this is the only lift to the bridge, and the longer it is halted the more likely attention will be drawn to it."

I nod and snatch one more deep kiss, then he presses the "resume" button and we straighten our clothes - I envy his ability to subdue his arousal via Vulcan discipline - and proceed demurely to our separate destinations, he to the lab, I to Sickbay, where my friend should be waiting.

However, I'm greeted with the news that she's been and gone. Dr. McCoy reports that the whoosiwhatsis has been fixed and I continue on my way, back to Engineering, where I find the aforementioned friend turning in her work order padd. She turns to see me and I say in a low voice, "What happened to meeting up after?"

"Scotty says he doesn't have a problem with us swapping jobs," she says. "So I figured I'd just turn in my report. Come on, we can work in the shop until lunch."

I turn in my padd and we go to the smaller shop unit. It's like an electronics workshop, where we test and repair various small, delicate gadgets like communicators or tricorders. It's otherwise deserted and we each pick up something in the "in" area and sit down to work.

"So what was the whooziwhatsis in Sickbay?" I ask conversationally.

"Actually, I got there and it turns out it wasn't broken," she says. "How are things on the bridge?"

"Great. Very nice," I say suspiciously. "So what did you do for an hour?" I'm amazed to see her face turn red; usually nothing embarrasses her, which is why we're friends. I figure she went for coffee or something.

"Nothing much," she replies. "Just dawdled around."

"Really."

"Really."

"Well, that's mighty interesting," I say slyly, "because Dr. McCoy said that you fixed the gadget, not that it had started working on its own."

"He probably thinks I fixed it. He wasn't watching me or anything." Definitely hiding something. Her face is almost as red as her shirt. I decide on a direct approach.

"Come on," I say, looking her in the eyes. "Tell all. Where and with whom were you making out?"

She stares at me. "What are you, telepathic?"

"If I were, I'd know who you were making out with," I point out. "So?" As she hesitates, I add, "Look, I managed to convince Chekov that you weren't interested in him. I think I deserve a reward for calling him off your trail."

She laughs suddenly. "Oh, what the hell. It was Dr. McCoy."

*

"Dr. McCoy? You mean the broken gadget?"

"The allegedly broken gadget," she corrects me. "That was an excuse."

"For what?" I'm truly lost. Now it's her turn to be sly.

"For a little nooky on the counter in his office."

I almost fall off my stool. I know I look like an idiot, staring, and then we both burst into laughter. When the noise dies down and we catch our breath, I say, "Leonard McCoy? Chief Curmudgeon? We are talking about the same guy, right?"

"Oh, yes," she gasps. "That's the one. Old blue eyes. Not that old, really. I bet Spock's older than him, in Vulcan years anyway."

We grin at this discovery, that we have more in common than we thought. A passion for older men, officers. Brunettes.

Just then Ensign Turner comes in for some parts; he nods at us, gets his stuff, departs. I turn to my friend and say, "Hey, we need to talk. I want to hear all about it."

"What are you doing later?"

"Seeing my favorite bridge officer. We'll have to do it some other time."

Others are coming in to work, so we put off what should be a very interesting conversation for now.

I'm sitting in the junior officers' mess at lunch, eating and reading, when a hand touches my shoulder and I look up at those brown eyes again and smile.

"Come, sit," I say, but Spock shakes his head.

"I cannot. I only wanted to tell you that the activity we discussed earlier today will have to be postponed. The captain has called an additional meeting this evening to discuss our upcoming tactical exercises."

I don't pout. It isn't fair to him and unnatural to me, anyway. "How about after?" I ask.

"I do not know how late we will be. If it ends before 2200 hours I will contact you."

I wish he could just come and join me in my bed, but I have an annoying roommate, and even if she were nice I wouldn't expect Spock to prefer my quarters to his.

"Okay," I say softly. He touches my face and nods, and goes off to his duties.

*

That afternoon I find my friend again and ask, "Hey, you want to get together for coffee after shift?"

"What happened to your plans?"

"He has a meeting."

We go to her quarters, as her roommate is working the swing shift, and instead of coffee she offers me some kind of liqueur, Kahlua, which we mix with cream and sugar and try not to gulp. It's so sweet and tasty and it goes straight to our heads.

"So tell me," she opens the discussion. "How did you and Mr. Spock hook up?"

"There was a shuttle diagnostic. He overheard something I said to Thompson about sex with different species, so he came looking for me, to see if I meant it."

"He came to you? Damn. And of course, you did mean it."

"Oh, yeah. He gave me every chance to decline, a real gentleman. He even promised not to say anything to anyone. It was just too - tempting."

She pours me some more Kahlua. "And - ?"

"And…" I took a deep breath, remembering. "Let's just say that I'm glad our shuttles are soundproof.

She practically shrieks. "Who wa doing th screaming?"

"Both of us, at some point or another."

"More than once?"

"What do you think? I didn't think I'd ever have another chance. You are going to give me the scoop on doc, aren't you?" I say, not willing to be the only gut-spiller at this party.

"Of course! So, more than once? How?"

"Let's see, I sat on his lap at first, then he sat me on the console and went down on me - that was my first climax - that was pretty loud. And then he stood up and I swear, he practically did the splits to line us up, and he bent me back on the console and took me and made me scream some more, and so did he."

Her eyes were wide. "No way."

"Way. And then he just smiled and said, 'Carry on, Ensign,' like I'd done a good job." I began to laugh. "I guess I did. He came back for more."

"When?"

"Uh-uh, your turn," I say, sipping. "Spill."

"Wellllll…you know the biobeds in Sickbay, some of them have straps on them, for restraining patients."

"Really?" I know that, but I want to encourage her.

"I went in for a routine physical, and Miss Chapel was out sick, so he had to do it. Usually there's a scan, and sometimes a culture. You know."

I nod. I hate that part of the exam.

"It doesn't bother me when Chapel does it, but having a man do it, I don't know, they're just not as sensitive about those bits, usually. So I wasn't sure he was going to do it. But then he looked down at me with those baby blues and said, 'Now, you can come back some other time for your culture, if you'd rather wait for Miss Chapel. I understand, it's your body, your rules. So shall we do it now, or would you like to come back?'"

He was so kind, and I could see he was humoring me, not condescending, just nice. And I said, 'Thanks, Doc, I think I'll come back in a couple of days,' and he shrugged and told me I could go."

"Am I missing something? Where are the restraints? Where's the nooky?"

"That was about a week later," she smiles and takes a swig of her drink. "I kept running into him, or passing him in the corridor, all week, and I got to thinking about those blue eyes and those beautiful hands. I thought maybe I could get a kiss or two, maybe some snuggling.

"So I went back to Sickbay and asked if I could speak to him privately, and he looked a little puzzled but we went in his office and he shut the door and asked what he could do for me."

According to her account, she had told him she'd changed her mind about her internal exam and that she wanted him to do it, and he got all gruff and said that sounded like a come-on and it wasn't funny.

"Then I said, 'What if it is a come-on?' and that made him stop and think, and then he said, 'Not very original, is it?' and I laughed and went over and sat on his lap."

"Nice. Did you do it on his desk?"

"Nope, as a matter of fact, after he kissed me a few times he said he couldn't do this in his office, right now - whatever 'this' was! - but if I'd meet him there late, during graveyard, he could, and I quote, 'accommodate' me."

"Oh, baby," I moan and we both laugh. 'So of course you did."

"Mmm-hmmm. He took me back into the private ward, locked the door, read me my rights, ascertained the health and willingness of all involved, and then tipped me back on one of those beds and ravished me."

"Ravished?"

"That's the only word for it. I swear, I'm never going back to somebody my own age again. He took his sweet time, made me come over and over before he would. That's when the restraints came into play; I was threatening to wrestle him to the ground and take him, and he strapped me down and tormented me some more."

"Holy cats," I murmur, impressed. So that's why he didn't want me and Spock breaking in. He might have had a date in there already. Yet another thing we - or rather, our men - have in common.

"So where else have you done it?" I ask curiously, wanting to compare notes, maybe get some ideas.

"Besides the private ward? Well, in his office, in the lab, one of the conference rooms, the aft Engineering storage unit, the mess hall kitchen area - "

"What! That's practically in public."

"Midnight snack," she purrs. "My quarters, when my roommate was gone, his quarters, but not overnight yet. Oh yeah, and in one of the decon units."

Maybe I should sit on the floor. I keep nearly falling off my chair, anyway. "Uh, there's something you should check if you're going to use the decon chamber again," I tell her. "There's at least one security video pickup in there. Anyone with the right clearance can tap into the feed."

"Thanks for the tip. I never work that area, so I didn't know. I hope it wasn't on… So, where have you done it?"

Where haven't we? I think, and after collecting my thoughts I say, "The shuttle, more than once. In Engineering, back in that dungeon by the dilithium units. On a biobed - " we both grin - "in a decon chamber - " she gasps and laughs - "in a Jeffries tube, in my quarters, in his quarters - "

I pause, remembering his quarters; a shadow of dark times flits across my mind, but I banish it and go on. "And on the bridge." She's so aghast she can't make a sound. I go on dreamily, "In the command chair."

She gets out of her chair and tries to bow to me, but only succeeds in doubling over with laughter.

"Girl, you are the queen," she says and toasts me one more time. "To older men."

"To scientists."

"To officers and gentlemen."

*

I amble down the corridor smirking to myself; it's nearly 2200 and I've had very little to eat and very much to drink. I'm feeling very warm and wonderful and glad I finally have a friend I can gossip with about my Vulcan. I do know, however, that if I don't make it to my quarters soon I'm going to fall asleep in mid-amble.

For the second time that day, a strong arm comes around to support me and I look up. My hero.

"Hi honey," I say, but in a whisper. Both his eyebrows take a hike and I giggle. I seem to be doing a lot of that today.

"Ensign, do you need assistance?" he says, although the answer is obvious.

"Yes, sir. Would you mind seeing me to my quarters, Commander?"

He shakes his head and this time I do pout, and his eyes twinkle.

"You need to be under observation, Ensign," he murmurs, linking my arm in his, and steers me toward his quarters.

"I'm sure you're right," I concur. "You are the senior officer here, after all."

"Indeed I am."

We get to his rooms without incident or encounter and the door closes behind us. He holds me up for a moment and looks in my eyes, then seems to make up his mind and swings me up in his arms to carry me to bed. While he's taking my clothes off I notice he's not doing it in a seductive manner, and he seems amused.

"You seem amused. Sir," I say, a little puzzled. He folds my clothes, places them in a neat pile on the chair, begins to disrobe. This looks a little more promising. I sit up and watch.

"You are a very charming young lady," he tells me. "And even more charming when you have over-imbibed. However, I have no intention of pursuing amorous activities while you are in such a state."

"Why not? It's not like you got me drunk so you could have your way with me." I cross my arms and try to look mad, apparently failing miserably, as he comes over to lie down beside me, propping his head on his hand, his hint of a smile appearing.

"Certainly not. I have never had to resort to such demeaning methods. Lights out." He pulls the covers up and me down, leaning over me as the lights go off; I can still see his outline against the faint starlight from the window in the next room. I reach up to find his thick, soft hair and pull his head down. He's right; even though my body and mind respond to his kiss, I can tell sleep is going to win out.

He settles me against his side, and the last thing I hear him murmur is something like, "You do taste sweet, vakshurik."

* * *

x

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x


	26. No Hands on Deck

_Disclaimers are in earlier chapters._

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**Chapter 26. No Hands on Deck.**

This chapter written by **TalesFromTheSpockSide**.

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"You told me once," says Spock softly, "that you fell in love with my mouth."

"True," I reply.

"The first time we coupled, I told you that the most sensitive surface on the Vulcan body is one's hands, and that the mouth was the human equivalent."

"Also true."

"Therefore I propose an experiment," he purrs. "This evening I shall use only my mouth, and you shall use only your hands."

We're lying in his bed, a gloriously large bed, in which he admits he spends more time now that we're lovers. I'm lying with my head on my arms, naked, just out of the shower, and he lies on his side facing me, same condition.

I think for a minute about his proposal. We've used various methods of pleasuring each other, various body parts, tools, food items. It wouldn't be a challenge to bring him to climax using either my hands or my mouth. But having to remember to use only my hands?

"No licking? On my part, I mean?"

"No licking. You may use only what moisture occurs spontaneously in other areas. Nothing is to go in your mouth."

"And your hands? You're going to try not to touch me with them?"

"Indeed," he says, rolling off the bed and extricating something from under it. "I suggest you make sure of it." He holds up a tie-down in a figure-eight pattern, one we've used before. "It will not completely prevent me, if I am determined. But it will remind me of the rules."

"You don't want to cover my mouth, do you?" The idea makes me feel a little claustrophobic.

He smirks at me and says, "No, that would prevent me from hearing your every moan and sigh."

"Hmm," I say thoughtfully. "You have the advantage of size and weight."

"The goal is not to win a battle, but to please one's partner. I trust we would both refrain from anything resembling combat."

"Very well, then," I say, sit up and take the tie-down from him. He holds out his wrists behind his back and I bind them; he clasps his hands together for good measure. We pause, watching each other for a moment, and then leans toward me, aiming not for my mouth but for my throat.

I lie back and let his lips caress my skin, and I cradle his head in my hands. His hair has always fascinated me; before we became intimate I never saw a hair out of place, a shiny, blue-black cap neatly trimmed around his exotic ears. Now I sink my fingers into the blackness, not just passing through the strands but taking my time, feeling it slip over my palms and knuckles. As my hands come round to the nape of his neck I extend my thumbs to brush the tips of his ears.

"Ahhhh," he sighs against my shoulder, and I run the tips of my fingers down his earlobes, meeting at his clavicle and stroking lightly over his shoulders, down his chest.

He lies on his side and shifts downward a little so that his head is level with my breasts, and begins to nuzzle between and around them, occasionally getting hold of a nipple and pulling and sucking. _That mouth_, I think again, watching tongue and lips work my flesh, and it's my turn to sigh.

I've forgotten my mission. He doesn't seem to mind; I know he could go on lavishing attention on my breasts until I come simply from that. However. I pull him closer so that our bodies are nearly pressed against each other, his broad chest against my belly. From his shoulders I let my hands trail down his sternum, then spread out from the center to circle his pectorals as he would my breasts if he could.

I get a delightful groan from him and step up the stimulation, rubbing and squeezing, feeling his nipples and chest hair under my palms as though for the first time. His lean body stretches and twists with pleasure and his mouth becomes more aggressive, teeth grazing my skin. Finally I take pity on him and roll him onto his belly.

"There is little for me to do in this position," he protests as I straddle his narrow backside.

"So relax and do nothing," I tell him and begin rubbing his shoulders. I work his muscular torso with fingers, palms, knuckles, the heels of my hands, working around his bound hands, until my arms are getting pleasantly tired and he's practically purring. Being from a race which doesn't encourage casual touch makes it that much more special to him. I can feel his buttocks flexing under my behind as he stretches and presses his hips into the bed.

I slip off his back and lie flat on mine and he lifts his head to meet my gaze. He has that drowsy, blissful expression that I love, the one I only ever see when we make love. He shifts his body over on top of me, then uses his legs to push mine together and plants his knees on either side of them. Now he can't get inside me easily, but I can get my hands on his erection. A tactical error?

Actually, no. He keeps his balance as he licks and sucks his way down my torso. I deliberately don't help him, waiting to see how he does without hands. Damn him. He moves like a snake, undulating over my skin until his head rests on my abdomen. He looks up at me slyly and I cross my legs and press my thighs together tightly. Without fingers he can't pry me open and suck the life out of me.

Then I think, _what the hell am I thinking_? I _want_ him to suck the life out of me. Over and over. I want to get hold of his hard cock and work it until he collapses. I want to _cooperate_.

He's watching me; my expression must be easy to read, because as I come to these conclusions, he laughs, the low, wicked Vulcan laugh I only hear between these walls.

"Let us work together toward a common goal," he murmurs and I grin and relax my legs so he can shoulder his way between them. His hair and ears caress my thighs as he puts his head down and inhales me, not touching my sex, just breathing in., then he rolls over to lie face up between my thighs, as if resting for a moment.

On an impulse I slide my hands down to join his head and stroke his face. As my fingers trail along his cheek he turns his head and opens his mouth a little, catches hold of the finger with his lips, pulls it in to suck gently.

He repeats the treatment on each finger while my other hand strokes his ears and hair. As he releases the last digit I sit up, his face upside down looking up between my knees, smiling. I spread my legs wide and he actually tips his head back at an uncanny angle to watch me sink my fingers into my wet folds, bathing them in my juices.

"You didn't say anything about what I could touch," I tell him breathlessly.

"True," he replies. "I trust you will leave the conclusion of that process to me."

"Oh, yes," I say. "Get ready."

I pull my dripping fingers out of my body and get up on all fours. Spock pushes his body up so that we're perfectly matched, faces to privates, then nudges my knee with his head, pushing it out from under me so I topple over onto my side with a squeak.

I see the wisdom of this shift, however; both my hands are now free, and his face is already burrowing between my thighs, not relying on my own movements to bring him his prize.

Meanwhile, I have a magnificent view. It's terribly tempting to just concede and take his hard green flesh into my mouth. I bring my slippery fingers up to grasp his shaft, watching his skin tighten, moving my fingers around the head. This is fascinating.

Usually I'm not focusing on the view when I'm down here; using my hands rather than my mouth gives me a different picture of him. I rub my hand over his testicles and perineum and feel him groan, his mouth full of my sex. My hands aren't so slippery any more, so I push one down to dip between my labia and he nips at my fingers. Just for that, I take a firm grip on his length, arch my back and grab his hip, and pull his body over so that my hand guides his tip to touch my nipple.

His groan turns to a cry of pleasure; his mouth digs deeper to capture my clitoris and my hands pump him swiftly, hard, for once watching, not tasting, as he comes, spills down the front of me, pulses in my hand as my idle mouth opens in a gasp of completion.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Spock free his hands from the restraints and reverse his position, so that we're facing each other again, and he wraps his arms around me and brings his mouth to mine, at last. I whimper with the sweet slow relief of his kiss.


	27. Lift

_Disclaimers in earlier chapters._

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**Chapter 27. Lift.**

This chapter is written by **ejectingthecore**.

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"You can let me down, now, Sir." Spock's holding me up, his arms around my legs, so I can peek out the top hatch of the turbolift, which is stopped dead. Now that I've determined the emergency braking clamps are functioning, there's not much to do but wait for a team from engineering to figure out the power failure and get it back up and running.

He lets me slide down through his grip, but my skirt lifts up. Instead of taking naughty advantage, he sets me down and smooths it into place. I demurely allow him. Then lick my lips and say in my most seductive voice, "There's really no self-rescue we can effect."

The emergency lamps are the only lighting inside the lift. The space is small, and he begins to prowl around me. I do the same so we are slowly circling one another, flirting in the near dark.

"Indeed." He intones, and he gets closer. His hand comes up to my cheek and his eyes smolder, and we continue to turn in a much smaller circle, "If we leave this lift we could suffer the consequences of another damaged lift impacting us."

I raise my hand to his cheek as well, and tell him, "We could get stuck in far worse circumstances."

And he slows our spinning with a heavy arm around my waist, and stops us entirely with a kiss. His lips, so familiar, are still thrilling. Somewhat dry, but pleasingly so, warm and open, and he almost always starts without any tongue, tantalizing and promising. It's a kiss I've come to know well, and it's mine all mine.

I breathe deeply as his tongue finally reaches for mine. The soft, hot silk of his tongue reminds me of him licking along the curves of my body, dipping into my sex, and at the memory I whimper into his mouth. Our arms slide around one another completely. His are a protective and sensual weight. He tells me, "This malfunction allows me the opportunity to engage you in an activity I have wanted to try for some time."

Beyond the widely varied sex we've already shared--from sweetly making out to the hell of _pon farr_--in his room, in the bathtub, in a decon chamber, a shuttle, engineering, sickbay, even the bridge--it's difficult to imagine what he has in mind. I'm truly intrigued.

"Yes, Commander." I whisper what was once his rank, and is now my pet name for him. It usually makes him smile, when we're in private, but this time he eyes me quietly, his brows in a serious V. It's adorable.

One of his hands goes to the center of my back. The other reaches for one of mine and holds it away from our bodies, and he begins to lead me around the lift. He wants to dance. It's true, it's something we've never tried. So busy pleasuring one another, hurting one another, indulging, healing. We have never danced. And judging from our awkward movements, neither of us has ever tried it in our lives.

While we circle the small, dark space I rest my head on his powerful chest and let go a single tear. Just one. A girl can't help it.

I start to hum a soft song. I'm no singer, but allowing the notes to vibrate against his chest I can give us enough music to move by, around and around ever so slowly. We focus entirely on this untried, chaste intimacy. His hand on my back pushes me, with just enough strength to propel me into a twirl. I whirl around once, bumping back into him with force, and we both laugh. We are not graceful.

I return to the comfort of my cheek burrowed into him, and he pulls our clasped hands in close, and while we still sway he speaks to me. With my ear on his chest his words rumble and I feel as well as hear him say, "When this lift is repaired, would you accompany me to my quarters?" I simply make a satisfied, comfortable sound, murmuring my consent into the fabric of his uniform. Then he amends, "Our quarters?"

I stop moving completely but keep my head dipped into his body, suddenly shy. "Our quarters?"

"You spend a great deal of time there." He almost backpedals, for a Vulcan, and I wonder if he meant something different, not what just sounded like an invitation to move in. But he continues, "I do not mean to presume. But my quarters are far more spacious than yours, and I--" He stops himself, then speaks in hushed tones into my hair, tenderly admitting it's not about the space. "When I am not fulfilling my duties, I wish to spend my time with you." His body has become stiff and Vulcan-ish and he waits for me. He's actually serious.

There's no way I can resist his clumsy offer. I want nothing more than to spend all my available time with him, sharing every part of our lives. I back up just enough to look him in the eyes, then pull him down into another kiss and wonder. How does he do it? Make each one feel like the first?


	28. Bliss

_Disclaimers in previous chapters._

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**Chapter 28. Bliss**

This chapter written by **TalesFromTheSpockSide**.

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_Sleeping her way to the top._

_Kinky for aliens._

And worst of all...

_Spock's slut._

I've heard them all, some whispered, some spoken deliberately loudly, but never when Commander Spock is around. Only around me. Because I'm a lowly Ensign who has the nerve or the twisted psyche or whatever, to be in a relationship with Spock. Some of them think I'm sleeping with him to gain favor, or because he has some practical or psychological hold over me. Some think I'm obsessed with having sex with alien species -- I even heard a rumor that I was going to take up with that Bolian over in Ops after I "dumped" Spock. Some think I've taken up with Spock so I can brag about it -- even though I've never brought up our relationship in conversation. They're all wrong.

I share Spock's bed, and his life, because I love him. Sounds corny, except that he feels the same way about me, and that's the only thing that keeps me from kicking ass whenever I hear the whispers. I prefer to face problems straight on and I hate it when people sneak around behind my back. Unfortunately, the only way to deal with this kind of shit is to ignore it, which would be a hell of a lot easier if I were a Vulcan, but then I don't think I'd have this problem.

Meanwhile, at least he and I are doing fine. I recently moved into his quarters and we've been enjoying some cohabitational bliss - not having to make an appointment to see each other, getting to just hang out, which we're both good at, and of course the fun of waking one another up in the middle of the night for some very satisfying sex.

There are a few difficulties. The Captain, although we don't cross paths often, doesn't seem to know what to make of me. But at least he's too polite to come right out and say, "You? Spock? What's up with that?" I still eat most of my meals in the mess, since that's where my friends hang out, and Spock would rather eat in private. Then there's Mr. Scott, who's the top of my line of command. He seems to get embarrassed whenever he has to talk to me; I don't understand why, but it only started about a month ago.

Tonight I decide to avoid the mess hall and go straight back to our quarters. I make some tea and get a snack from the replicator and curl up to stare out the viewport. My life with Spock is great. The rest of my life is, well, unremarkable. I'm not saying Starfleet isn't a challenging career, but as an Ensign there's only so much I can do. Maybe it's time I started polishing my skills for a promotion.

My brown study is interrupted, happily, by the entrance of my very superior officer. Spock sees the back of my head over the couch, comes to drop a kiss on it, proceeds to follow his usual routine, which is to remove his boots and tunic and fold himself up to meditate for a bit, usually in an alcove off the main living area. He knows I don't expect his attention until this routine is over. The sameness of it doesn't detract from the rush I still get when he walks into the room. Or when he unfolds himself, to approach me in his black tee and stocking feet, pantherlike.

"What is on your mind, my Ensign?" he asks as he sinks down to sit beside me. I can't resist; I reach out to touch his face, stroke his cheek with the back of my hand, and he takes it and kisses it and holds on to it while I speak.

"I was just thinking about getting ready to take the exam for promotion."

His eyebrow rises in approval.

"An excellent thought. You have been an exemplary member of the Engineering staff; expanding the scope of your duties will benefit the ship as well as your own career. Have you made any arrangements for the test?"

"I haven't. The idea just occurred to me today. You know how Humans like to mull things over sometimes."

"Some Humans, at any rate," he says ruefully.

"Who was it this time?" He knows I don't mind when he grouses about Human behavior, any more than when I grouse about superior officers.

"Mr. Scott. He seems to have decided that the replicators in the main mess hall need to be recalibrated. However, he did not ascertain that the correct parts were in ship's stores before he shut down the replicators. We will have to wait until we put in for resupply to get them. Therefore, the main mess is now not available for obtaining food. I wish Mr. Scott had 'mulled' his decision before acting precipitately."

I grin, then remember something I wanted to ask him. "Mr. Scott has been acting oddly lately, whenever I try to talk to him casually. Do you know if he has a problem with me in particular, or just has something on his mind?"

"Can you describe the odd behavior?"

"Well, he seems more self-conscious than usual, like he's hiding something. And he barks more. Doesn't bother me - I'm used to officers barking. But he didn't used to act like that."

I'm astonished to see the tips of Spock's ears flush. It takes a lot to flummox a Vulcan.

"I believe I can enlighten you regarding the probable cause of this behavior." This time my eyebrows go up and he continues, "The second time we met in the decontamination chamber..."

"The time I wasn't shut in behind a wall and made to watch?"

His lips quirk. "Precisely. After our festivities concluded, as I have told you, I found that one of the security cameras was activated and that we may have been observed."

"I remember..." I say, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"I searched the security logs and found the transmission stored in an archive. I erased it --contrary to Starfleet regulations -- "

"Thank you for sacrificing your principles to your privacy."

"However, I was able to discover that the pickup was routed to two separate locations during the course of our activities."

"Oh, crap. Don't tell me -- Mr. Scott?"

He nods. "His office. And one of the medical labs. I cannot be sure, but it is logical to assume that Mr. Scott, at least, witnessed said activities. That would account for his sudden self-consciousness around you."

I stare at him for a moment, dismayed, and yet amused. Amusement wins out and I start to laugh. Spock smiles slightly.

"Highly amusing, isn't it? The thought of Mr. Scott watching as I discipline you in such a provocative manner -- "

"Spanking, to be exact."

"Yes," he purrs, and I can tell he enjoys the memory. "Then, if I remember correctly, there was a 'blow job', and I 'went down on you,' and then -- "

"Then you sat me up on the console and nailed me five ways from Sunday," I murmur into his ear. "And I said -- "

"'Thank you sir, may I have another'!" He begins to laugh as well and I tackle him, pushing him down on the couch and spreading my body over him while he chuckles and runs his hands up under my clothes.


	29. Ambushed

_Disclaimers in previous chapters._

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**Chapter 29. Ambushed**

This chapter** co-written **by ETC and TFTSS.**  
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**

I grab the first opportunity I get to be assigned to a challenging task: beaming down to a largely inhospitable planet where the colonists are struggling with some antiquated technology. Mr. Scott has decided there'd be no harm in letting some of the less experienced of his crew join the landing party. There are five teams of three, and we will be supervised by Lts. Conrad and Tyler.

I'm teamed with a guy I don't know, Mr. Samuels, a grumpy-looking Ensign with a science tunic. As we're waiting for the third member of our team, we get word that he's come down with the Bolian flu.

"Never mind," says Mr. Scott. "Two a team will have to do. Now form up to transport to the surface, troops."

As the first group beams down, the door to the transporter room slides open and Commander Spock enters. I study the transporter console as though I'd never seen one before, but my heart leaps when I hear him say he'll be joining the landing party.

"As you have a number of personnel with limited experience," he tells Scotty, "it would be wise to add another senior officer to the group."

"Aye, it would that. Your prerogative, Commander."

Spock nods and waits until the last group steps onto the pad, me and my grumpy partner, then joins us and says, "Energize."

My first hour on this planet is uneventful. Why the colonists want to live on this rock is beyond me, but of course I'm a woman who's always dreamed of space. I can accept that someone might dream of this life. I admire their commitment to the scrubby and seemingly barren place, and I'm doing what I can to assist them in repairing and improving their technology. First up is an array of generators that seem hardly more advanced than a science project involving coiled wire and a magnet.

It's a one-woman job, but we work in pairs when off-ship, so another engineer and I are gutting these so-called generators and making a plan for rebuilding them and efficiently connecting them. My partner is a man I usually have little interaction with. Our schedules in engineering very rarely coincide. No matter, since I find him abrasive. Though I agree with his assessment of the colony's technology, I find him to be overly disdainful. He's a big man, and I idly wonder how he even gets under consoles and into access tubes. I work beside him and try to stay out of the way of his beefy hands.

One of our commanding officers comes to check on us. A tall, dark, elegant vision in blue. Even without a smile he lights up the place. I try my best to borrow a page from his book and look unimpressed. I can hardly believe his audacity when he asks me to step away from my project and accompany him on a "related task." But he's the boss. When we're not in the bedroom, anyway. So I tell my partner I'll be back soon. He grunts in response, and I take it as "Go ahead. I don't care."

Spock wants to show me something. He takes me a little farther from the colony than I expected, winding around huge boulders, and as we cover more distance he takes my hand and leads me like a child. We turn a final corner and I'm greeted with an incredible sight - an oasis. A small forest, lush with bushes, trees, flowers and life, covering a couple of the broad hills typical of this world. I break into a grin and reach to touch the glossy leaves of a nearby plant, but stop short, remembering my training. Spock nods and says the flora is safe to touch.

Then he says, "Come inside." And he pulls me through the brush and into a tiny, storybook clearing. It's charming, with bright green grass and twisted trees. While I take in the sight, Spock advances on me, and I'm startled when he takes me roughly by the shoulders and snarls, "Need. You." He pushes me up against a tree and I feel his hot tongue on my neck, his teeth pressing into my flesh, not biting down, just tasting me. We're so familiar now, such slow and deliberate lovers, now that we have all the time in the world together, that this is strangely animalistic. I feel like I must be luscious. He makes me feel that way.

His hands are under my skirt before I know what's happening. He expertly pushes down my tights, then my panties. "Turn around," he commands. He orders me to bend forward and hold onto a tree. It's not a naughty seduction. It's just raw desire, and him taking me. He positions my clothes to his satisfaction, just enough for his access, and I feel more naked than if they'd been ripped off entirely. I'm brimming with desire too, and when one of his beautiful fingers sinks into me, I push back to meet him, and we repeat this motion many satisfying times. He replaces his fingers with his hard penis, so ready, I gasp, feeling even more directly his obvious animal need.

Suddenly he pulls out of my body, lifts me up and around to face him, and kisses me slowly, a measured kiss that seems to ratchet him down.

"I am sorry, _k'diwa_," he pants. "I needed you." He pulls me down on the grassy ground and then playfully bites my neck and ears, as if in contrast with the snarling bites moments ago.

"Obviously," I kid with him, and he does his usual eyebrow. He pushes my skirt out of the way, and his eyes soften and he enters me again, tenderly and slowly this time, and we rock together in intimacy and pleasure, without grasping at climax.

I speak into his ear. "Spock, what does it mean?"

"What, my love?" he says distractedly, trailing kisses along my jawline, as if this is normal, all the while moving his lithe hips. My Vulcan, doing this to me, is still so incredible. Most of the time I am completely at ease with him, more so than I've been with anyone else. But there are times, like now, when I can't even fathom that he kisses me, let alone lives with me, loves me, covers my body with his when we both happen to wake in the night.

I whisper in his ear. "_K'diwa_."

While continuing the motion of his hips he looks me in the eyes, puzzled, and says, as if it were the most common knowledge, "You are half of my heart and soul."

Damn. How can he make screwing like teenagers, hidden from the crew with our pants half down, so romantic? I literally swoon and he continues to love me, burying himself in me over and over.

As he makes love to me, I feel a new sensation. It's physical and emotional at once, and it's confusing but lovely. It's like during _pon farr_, one of the _welcome_ things that happened during that time. I see images of myself. I am in his memories, and I have never felt so beautiful. I see myself from behind, nude, up close. I see my hair draped over one shoulder so the nape of my neck is exposed, I see my back, my shoulder blades, all framed by the black of space and stars moving toward us.

When he comes it is with a long sigh into my neck, and the word again, _k'diwa_, and the word itself makes me follow him with my own deliciously drawn-out orgasm. We lie in the grass, half clothed, quietly breathing together. I mean to ask him about my experience of his memories, but just as I'm about to speak there's a rustling in the bushes, and we both look around like guilty idiots. We smile at ourselves, then pull ourselves back together. Spock removes leaves from my hair and I brush his into perfection. Then he sweeps me up in his arms as if I'm his bride and swings me in a circle, stops and kisses me before setting me down.

We each place a hand on the other's cheek, and we look into one another's eyes, and I am simply happy. He is too. I feel it emanate from him, and for the thousandth time I am absolutely sure that I see something no one else sees in him. Screw them for anything they might think about Spock and me. We are lovers, and that's all there is.

I see another vision of myself right now, what I look like in this moment, and I am radiant. I see myself full of understanding and generosity and love. We hear his communicator, and the experience is abruptly terminated. Spock separates himself from me and responds to the call.

Closing his communicator, he tells me he is needed back at the main installation. We walk together, back to the spot where I was working with Samuels, and Spock leaves me with a nod and a twinkle in his eye, as if to acknowledge there is a secret we share. If discretion is the better part of valor, Spock is the most valiant man I know. I'm smiling at his receding form when a rough voice speaks up right next to me.

"Ready to get back to work?" grunts Samuels.

It's quite a contrast working with him after communing with Spock. We work mostly in silence, except for the occasional request for a tool or an opinion. He disappears into the rocks a couple of times for extended periods; I figure he must have to pee a lot and think nothing of it.

When we get a call to report back for the day, we trudge back to the main building and beam back up, leaving three of our group to work overnight. When we materialize on the pad, Samuels stalks off without a backward look; Spock steps down and says, "I must give the captain a debriefing. I shall join you in an hour."

I give him a nod and a twinkle of my own and we part ways.

That night sleep is the only item on the menu; I'm happily exhausted from the physical effort I put forth today, and my beast of a lover seems appeased for now. Next morning I prepare for another foray into the wilderness, donning uniform pants rather than the skirt. Spock, like most of the men on board, prefers the skirt, but I tell him that unless he wants to share the view of my behind with every Tom, Dick, and Samuels, it's trousers for me today. He acquiesces to my logic.

Today is nearly a repeat of the day before. Samuels and I move farther afield, within sight of the greenery in which I was secluded yesterday. Samuels doesn't seem surprised by it.

"I saw it yesterday, when I was taking a look around," he says shortly and turns back to some gadget he brought with him, not standard issue. I'm about to lean in for a look when he stands abruptly and marches off toward the oasis. I hope he isn't going to pee anyplace we might be working later.

There's no interlude with my superior officer today; he's closeted with the colonists, working on their databanks. Samuels and I manage to cannibalize enough parts to construct a reliable prototype for a replacement generator. We've transmitted the schematic to the colony's main computer and their chief engineer has acknowledged that they'll be able to scrape together enough parts to construct more.

I flip my communicator shut and turn to Samuels.

"That's it, then," I say with a sigh. "We're done for today."

The communicator beeps again; this time it's Lt. Conrad, who's the official head of our group.

"All units, report. An emergency has arisen on Evelia VI which requires Enterprise to proceed there at full warp. All Enterprise personnel, report to the colony transporter site."

Silently Samuels and I return to the site. Spock is nowhere to be seen; I overhear that he's already beamed back to the ship due to the emergency. One by one the smaller teams check in with Conrad, including me and Samuels, then we wait our turn to be transported.

As I stand on the fringes, wishing I'd had more time to explore the glade, I hear an odd strangling kind of sound from around the corner of the building. I don't see Samuels anywhere, so I go to see whether he's choking on a nut or something. Fine time to have a snack, I think as I round the corner.

That's the last thing I remember.


	30. Bound

_Disclaimers in previous chapters._

* * *

**Chapter 30. Bound.**

This chapter written by **TalesFromTheSpockSide**.

_Please note: This chapter and the next couple deal with abduction and non-consensual sex.  
_

* * *

Green. I'm surrounded by green. Dark green, sage green, even a splash of lime green here and there. I blink and try to raise my head, but it's throbbing like hell and I lay it back down again. I can hear someone breathing nearby.

"Hello? Who's there?" I call out. No answer. I become aware that I can't move my arms, which are pulled up over my head, or my legs, which are spread out on the itchy straw surface I'm lying on. I also notice that I'm naked.

"Okay, what the hell is going on here?" I try to sound as mean as possible, which is pretty mean. Still no answer. I do a little more inventory and find that there's a kind of twine holding my wrists together, ending in a loop wound around what looks like a bed frame. My ankles are restrained separately, probably to the legs of the pallet. I resolve to lift my head again, no matter how much it hurts.

Through the pain I see Ensign Samuels, squatting on the ground on my right, about three meters away. Just staring at me.

"Samuels, get me out of this!"

He shakes his head, slowly. Is he stupid, or just enjoying the view? I snarl at him, "Come on, you idiot, untie me and let's get out of here!"

He stands, looking larger and more menacing than ever, and comes over to look down at me. Finally he speaks.

"You're not going anywhere, Ensign."

"What do you mean? We have to get back to the transport site. How the hell did I end up here?" I'm twisting around, trying to see a way out of my bonds. He puts his hands on his knees, leans over to look me in the face.

"I put you here," he says, quietly. "I put you here so we could have a little talk. So I can explain a few things to you, before you're in too much pain to understand."

It's my turn to stare at him, horrified. I blurt out, "But - Enterprise - "

"Is gone. Without either one of us. And no wiser to it, either. I sent a signal to the main computer, registering that we transported back after everyone else had gone. As far as they know, we're on board, and it will take time for them to figure out we're gone. Even then, they probably won't be able to find us right away; they have an emergency to attend to. Even your precious Mr. Spock can't make the captain turn the ship around just for you."

"You smug son of a bitch!" My mind is racing. Is he jealous? Is he psychotic? Is he just perverted? "They will come back. Even if I'm dead, they'll find you all right."

He reaches out, grabs my chin in a viselike hand.

"I'm not going to kill you, Ensign. But you might wish I would."

His eyes are frighteningly calm.

*

Hours go by. He leaves intermittently and I realize that he must have started setting this up the day before. We're in another secluded clearing where someone must have camped at some point; the straw I'm lying on seems recent, but the frame of the pallet is warped by rain and time. There's a fire pit nearby; one of his forays is apparently to gather firewood, as he comes back with an armload and starts a fire. At least he doesn't seem to be armed. He must have subdued me the old-fashioned way, with a whack to the skull.

I keep trying to engage him in conversation, trying to figure him out.

"Samuels, what's the point of this? Why can't we talk without me being tied up?"

"You can talk all you like," he says calmly and takes out a food packet. Pointedly not offering any to me, he chows down and launches into a tirade at the same time.

"It's about time somebody told you how things work in this life," he says. "You can't trust anyone who isn't human. Especially any race who thinks they're more 'highly evolved' than us. That's plain arrogance. The Federation is nothing but a bunch of ass-kissers, picking up scientific crumbs as they're thrown to us."

"I have nothing to do with that."

"You're the poster child for it, Ensign. You claim to be in love with that freak, that half-breed. Bad enough his mother was forced to mate with a Vulcan. Now he's throwing his weight around, on the ship, in Starfleet. Won't be long until human blood is tainted with the DNA of every freak species in our precious Federation."

My heart seems to stop. It's Spock he hates, and all Spock stands for, all the things he and I believe and respect.

"Ever since he took up with you I can't get away from him," he complains. "I keep running into him in the mess, in the hallways, in the gym. That insufferable smirk. Why the hell would any woman want that pointy-eared goblin?"

Why indeed, I think, and I let myself flit back into memory, to the first time I saw Spock, the third day I was assigned to Enterprise, when he came by Engineering to meet with Mr. Scott. My first view was of his back, from a distance, long and lean, culminating in a backside that suited the regulation trousers better than any I'd seen. He turned in my direction and caught me looking, my eyes flicking up to his face, and I realized whose ass I was admiring and very quickly found something else to do with myself. If I get out of this - _when_ I get out - I'm going to admire that backside at close range. For several hours, maybe.

"Well, you're one deviant who's not going to breed with any alien. When I'm through with you, you won't be able to reproduce with any species. And your Vulcan will have to take the hint and leave humans alone. You're not worth his career. He won't have any problem forgetting about you. And they can court-martial my ass all they want. I'll be a hero for taking a stand against your kind of perversion."

I can't possibly be anything different than who I am, no more than Spock can, so this maniac isn't going to be appeased by anything I do or say. _How did he ever get into Starfleet with this attitude?_ I think. He drones on, until the sun sets and he rolls up in a blanket and goes to sleep next to the fire, snoring, leaving me with my rope and my cooling body, and my thoughts.

*

Next morning, he wanders off again for a while. I don't know what he's waiting for. I almost wish he'd get on with whatever torment he has in store for me.

The sun is at its zenith when he finally lets me get up to relieve myself, keeping my hands bound together and watching me every minute. Charming. He drags me back to the makeshift bed and reattaches my restraints; I'm starting to get rope burns on my wrists and ankles.

"I bet you're wondering what I'm waiting for," he says as he squats down to stare at me some more. As long as he's just looking, my nudity doesn't bother me, but I'm fairly sure he's not going to stop at ogling. I shrug. I've decided not to satisfy his curiosity or his need for an audience any more.

"I found out that the colonists are all going on retreat this afternoon, to the western part of the continent," he offers, as if he were a travel adviser. "There won't be anyone at the installation, no one to wander out this way while I'm busy with you, no one to come scout the area if Enterprise comes back and calls. No one to hear any noise you make."

This is a man with nothing to lose, nothing he cares about, anyway; he's already admitted that he doesn't care if he's prosecuted. He even seems rather blasé about whether either of us survives. There's no way I can talk my way out of this. I'll have to watch for my chance to escape.


	31. Distress Call

_Disclaimers in previous chapters._

* * *

**Chapter 31. Distress Call.  
**

This chapter **co-written**.

_Note: This chapter is hard M for abduction and non-consensual sex.  
_

* * *

He starts to pace, muttering, as if he's working himself up to something. He realizes I'm not listening to him and he comes right up to the edge of my pallet, leaning over to glare at me.

"I saw you yesterday," he snarls and stops pacing to glare at me. "You and him. Screwing in the bushes, like animals. That's all you are to him, something to rut with. Freak. Vulcans think they've got us fooled. They look so dignified, so above it all...but inside they're just waiting to put us down, take over what we have, our Federation - our women - "

He kneels on the bed and twists his hand in the hair on top of my head, yanking so that I can't turn away from his disgusting maniacal face.

"And you encourage him. You fawn on him. What did you do to get his attention, suck his dick? Give him a blow job in the turbolift? You'd do anything he told you to, wouldn't you?"

This idiot doesn't know the half of what I've done, willingly, with Spock.

He gets tired of my silence eventually and gets down to what he's really there for - abusing my body to get back at Spock. He opens his pants, shoves them off, grabs hold of his organ as if it were something magnificent, pulls and strokes it. The part of my mind that's trying to keep a mental distance from what's happening to my body wonders what he's going to do with it. He works himself for a few minutes, staring at my body, then flings himself down on top of me, shoving my legs apart and gripping my breast with one hand as his other tries to cram his cock inside me.

Tries, and fails. It doesn't hold its shape; as soon as I feel it touch me it seems to fold up, deflate. I lock my face into a grim stare, but inside I'm gloating. He must see something in my eyes; he growls a few curses at me, pumps himself some more, still can't get it in. In spite of my dire situation, I can't help but thank the stars he can't rape me in this condition.

He can still hurt me, though.

"It's your fault," he nearly screams. "Bet your pet Vulcan has the same problem, every time. What does it take to get him up? Talk, bitch!" His hard hand whacks me a good one across my face; I can feel my cheek and eye socket starting to swell already and my eyes tear up. But I won't talk. I won't give him any satisfaction, verbal or otherwise.

He mutters something about not the only thing he can fuck, and he unties my ankles and flips me over on my belly, grabs my thighs and shoves them painfully wide.

"Does he do you like this?" he pants in my ear, grinding his sorry cock against my ass. It's still limp. I'm tempted to tell him that no, Spock is much better at it, but I know what that'll get me, more bruises. As it is, the weight of his body slamming against my hips is excruciating; he might as well be beating me with a stick.

He snarls and pauses in his flailing, hoists himself up between my knees and pulls my buttocks apart to shove his fingers into my anus, dry, brutal, so painful that I bite my lip until it bleeds rather than cry out. I feel him yank them out again and shove them into my vagina, thrust a few times, take them out, return to penetrate my ass again. It's no less painful this time, but it seems to have done something for his arousal because he abruptly removes his fingers and manages to force his cock into my ass about halfway. I grab the rope with both hands and get ready to hang on and ride it out.

Once again, I'm saved by his inadequacy. His organ goes limp again and he pulls it out and scrambles back off the pallet. I can hear him panting, but he's ominously quiet otherwise. I pray he won't violate me with his fingers again, or worse yet, an object. It sounds like he's putting his pants back on, and while he's shuffling around I realize he forgot to restrain my ankles this time. I lie absolutely still and hope he won't notice.

He's back, standing at the foot of the pallet, still breathing heavily and muttering.

"Stupid bitch...worthless...teach her a lesson..."

The only warning I have is a split second of sound, a faint whistling, and something whiplike descends on my behind. Gasping, I crane my neck to see him wielding a switch, thick enough to raise welts, and he's beating my backside and the back of my legs with it. This is the worst pain yet and I'm tasting my own blood again, willing myself not to scream. In an effort to gain some distance between my mind and what's happening to my sore body, I try to think about Spock.

I imagine him in our quarters, comforting, holding me, the only thing that will cure this agony...imagine him in the glade, yesterday, rocking me and loving me among the trees...I won't show this asshole any tears. I am the only one who can help me now. But I indulge in a single silent cry out to Spock to save me. I picture him as he would be coming to find me. I've seen his rage before, contained, smoldering, directed against the enemy, against himself. He's completely under control, but I know him and know how much effort goes into containing that holocaust.

Suddenly I'm not on this makeshift bed anymore. It's the sensation I've had before, of knowing Spock's memories, but it's much stronger this time and it's not memory, it's real time. I'm seeing what Spock sees right now, a door, to our quarters. I hear my own cry for help in his mind, and I force myself to ignore how afraid and hopeless I sound, how heartbreaking. My view changes to watching Spock as he hears me. He stops short and his eyes go hard and wary. Suddenly I'm overwhelmed with a tide of emotion. The sharp tang of fear, then roiling anger, then blind rage.

I lose him. I'm back on the bed. I try to breathe through the pain and my captor seems to find that unacceptable. He screams at me, "Look at me, bitch!" and grabs my leg, flips me onto my back, and before he can release me I bring my feet together, bend my knees, and kick like a mule, with all my strength. He's within range and I actually manage to get in a good blow, right on his clavicle. He reels back and lands on his ass; I bend my body back in half and shove my feet against the frame at the head of the bed -- the frame where the loop over my wrists is anchored. My idea is to break it, but from where I lie it'll be a miracle if I can manage.

My tormentor staggers up, wheezing, and lunges at me; I unfold and give him another kick, this time getting him in the solar plexus, so he doubles over gasping. I roll back, give another kick to the bed frame and it _is_ a miracle, because the frame cracks; I haul on my arms and push with my feet until one of the slats splits open and I can slip the rope free of the frame.

I take stock of my enemy, who is wheezing and trying to grab the switch he'd cut, and as I land on the ground and start to move I see him get to his feet. I don't know which way to go, and I don't care.

I plunge into the shadow of trees, clutching the rope so I don't trip, and run like hell.

* * *

*


	32. Determined

_Disclaimers in previous chapters._

* * *

**Chapter 32. Determined.**

This chapter written by **ejectingthecore** with lots of help from **TFTSS**.

_Note: This chapter hard M for abduction and brief violence._

* * *

I run for the only decent cover-farther into the forest. I'm relatively small and very fast, and I get as far as I can before slowing down to be more quiet. I look for the deepest, scariest place I can stand and that still looks technically safe. It doesn't make any sense to be discoverable, since _Enterprise_ is gone and no one besides that maniac will be looking for me for a while. It might take several days for any rescuer to get here, and I have to set about hiding myself for real and finding what I need to live.

As much as it makes my gorge rise in my throat, I have to think about Samuels. First, defense. If he gets to me, I have to be able to fight. How would he attack? He got me the first time with the element of surprise-a tactic he's now lost for good. And he's too clumsy to sneak up on me. I work with the premise that I'll know he's coming. He's a lumbering opponent, not built or properly trained to fight smart. As long as I can stay out from under him, I can use his weight and slow momentum against him. If I can get inside his space, I can attack him with a small weapon.

I take a moment to think about how he must have barely squeaked by passing the Starfleet survival tests. I, on the other hand, was a natural. I find a downed tree limb of a perfect circumference and locate a sharp rock to saw at it and sharpen it, fashioning something to use as a knife. After a long while, it's barely a sharp stick, but enough to do some damage. Before the day is over I need to secure water, shelter, and eventually something to eat.

I find a place where a mucky stream flows slowly, close to a defensible hollow in a gigantic fallen tree. Several such trees crashed into one another a long time ago and made a protected space that I can get into and not freeze or be seen. I wish briefly for some clothing, but try not to let wishful thinking turn to despair.

These tasks keep me occupied, keep my brain from wandering and considering anything but survival options. But when they're all done, and all I have left is to sit in my hole with the meditative task of constantly sharpening my knife, I end up thinking about things that could destroy me if I let them.

Spock, primarily. Irrationally, I want him to come crashing through the bushes and save me. I want his hot body holding my shivering one, his arms holding me up, his deep voice murmuring into my neck, whispering that it's okay. I want our bedroom. I can nearly smell the blankets on our bed, redolent with his clean, masculine scent. I want to be on our couch, alone, waiting for him to walk through the door and kiss my head.

I try to focus on my wounds to keep me awake and grounded in reality. My wrists are bruised and in some places torn, but I'm banking on the ship coming back and the crew--Spock--finding me before I need to seriously worry about infection. I clean them as best I can. My other physical wounds are not easily treatable in the woods, and I simply have to try to ignore the pain. I've done it before, I think wryly, recalling _pon farr_. But that memory brings me back to my lover, the word he called me. I grasp at it, nearly losing it in my mind, but I get it. _K'diwa_.

The word throws me into one of those episodes where I can see what he sees, experience his memories, thoughts, feelings. They're jumbled, but they feel like home.

I see our room. He's lying on our bed, but not lazily or sleepily. He's alert, head propped against the pillows, meditating. The scene is wrong, odd; he doesn't ever meditate there. Odder still, he's dressed in his uniform and it's mussed. I feel an empty lack of concern about my own surroundings, my body and clothes. Deep sorrow and sharp fear. A powerful feeling of protectiveness washes over me, and then cold shame drowns it out.

I must fall asleep, though I don't remember it. I wake to my dark hole in the tree and a night sky above me. The stars look alien from here. I miss the simple vision of our room and the warm space in Spock's mind - even though it was full of fear and regret. I wait out the night.

As soon as the sun comes up, I'm dying to get out. It's all I can do to keep myself hidden and simply survive. I'm miserably cold, but I don't think it's life threatening. I burrow down into the dirt and detritus and dream again of _my k'diwa_ coming to me. I wonder if that's the proper use of the term. Is the term different for husbands than it is for wives? My mind stills, nearly stumbles. This thought came unbidden, and it disorients me all over. I long for home even more, and I'm increasingly determined I'll get there. Hours go by.

Unbelievably, I haven't seen any substantial animals, just simple insect-like beings of various kinds that one might expect in a hole in the woods. Nothing that could make a sound in the bushes like the sound I hear now. I'm on instant alert, my weapon at the ready. It's the same sound Spock and I heard in the trees what seems like a lifetime ago, in the clearing - the sound Samuels made.

I'm flooded with adrenaline and my heart rate is soaring and I hear in my head my mate's internal voice. It's getting to where I recognize it, and I'm comforted whenever it comes to me. This time I feel anticipation, hope, determination. It's different. This time it's amplified - or closer. It feels as though the source is near. I realize I'm sensing him nearby, and I can barely contain my hope. Then I hear him, really hear him, out loud, shouting orders to someone. I carefully peer out to be sure I'm not dreaming, and he's there with his phaser drawn. I duck down before I call out, so someone doesn't accidentally shoot me. I hear myself call him, and I feel his heart soar and then nothing more. He comes rushing to me and then he's really touching me, lifting me into his arms. He carries me and I drop my pointy stick, because I'm safe.

I'm breathing in the scent of his chest, falling into its strength as he wades through the brush. He barks an order at someone and I find a red uniform shirt wrapped partially around me, a tiny bit of warmth and modesty. Besides his furnace of a body, the shirt's the first bit of comfort I've felt in a very long time. He carries me all the way out of the forest, and I realize how far I went in. Unless I was doing a really wretched job of concealing myself, it's a wonder he found me.

We reach the edge of the forest, and I see something I'd really rather not see. It's Samuels. A couple of security officers have him in their clutches, and he's watching me and Spock with hatred, and the disgusting sensation of his hands seeps into my thoughts. I remember him trying to pry me open with his fat fingers, his useless penis, and I nearly vomit. I feel anguish, bordering on hatred, over the pain he's caused me, physically and emotionally. The closer we get to the security detachment, the more intense these feelings get.

Suddenly I find myself placed on a nearby rock, not exactly gently; a female crew member is by my side immediately, wrapping a blanket around me, but my eyes are glued to Spock. As he advances on Samuels, I see something subtle and strange; the security people holding him seem to loosen their grip, then actually let go of their prisoner, fading back slightly as Spock comes forward. Samuels doesn't seem to realize he's no longer restrained; his dilated eyes are fixed on Spock. He takes a step forward and that's all the excuse Spock needs. I hear something I've never heard before. The sound of Spock's full Vulcan rage.

He raises an arm far above his head, literally roars and pounds Samuels in the face, his alien strength unchecked. He cracks the man's face. Blood flows and Samuels slumps back in the arms of the security guards. They have no love for the man, and they respect Spock's fury. There's an unspoken agreement among everyone here that this is justice, and it's terrifying, but I'm relieved Spock won't be in trouble for this, unless - and I'm afraid this might happen - he doesn't stop until he kills the man. He pulls back and makes a fist and I know that another blow will erase Samuels' face. Sharply I call Spock's name, my voice weak but somehow substantial enough to break his violent trance. He turns to me and stands, frozen, for a long moment. Then I see his pain and rage shift to something softer, directed at me. He controls his anger, calms his face, centers himself. He comes to me and lifts me up again, carries me to the transport site. This time the tingle of the transporter and Spock's strong arms are the last things I remember.

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	33. Memory

_Disclaimers in previous chapters_

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**Chapter 33. Memory.**

This chapter written by **TalesFromTheSpockSide**.

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Once again, I'm swimming upward into consciousness, this time under much more promising conditions. This is definitely not a wooden pallet in a forest, and I'm not restrained. Or naked, either; I'm covered with something warm and soft.

I'm lying on my side and I stir a bit, meaning to roll over, but my movement is stopped by a cushion of some sort behind my back. Then I remember the welts on my backside, feel how they burn, and I understand the need to stay on my side. I open my eyes as I hear footsteps approaching; it's my favorite blue-eyed curmudgeon, Dr. McCoy.

"I'm getting tired of seeing you in my Sickbay," he growls. "Can't you stay out of trouble?" But his eyes are anxious and he lays a hand on the top of my head. I smile faintly at him.

"What's the worst, Doc?" I ask. "Give it to me straight, now."

He pulls up a stool and perches next to my bed. "Starting at the top, you have a mild concussion, a black eye and a split cheek; rope burns on your wrists; miscellaneous bruising on your torso. Broken skin and welts on your lower back, buttocks, legs. As for your genital area -- "He pauses and frowns. "Looks like he tried to penetrate you, failed, used something besides his penis. Fingers?"

I nod, clenching my teeth.

"Anything else?"

I shake my head.

"Good. I know it hurts like the devil, honey, but these are small mercies, believe me."

I find my voice. "He couldn't get it up long enough, he kept trying to get it in but it - went limp."

"Serves the bastard right," grumbles McCoy.

I nod and find I have the strength to tell him the next part. "He forgot to tie my feet up again, and he got too close. So I kicked him and managed to break the slats on the frame and get away."

"You," says McCoy with a touch of pride, "are a force to be reckoned with, my dear. I wouldn't want to meet you in a dark alley. And before you ask, Spock is on his way down here. I called him on the bridge when I saw your vitals perking up."

On the heels of this announcement comes the man in question, striding swiftly to my side as the doctor fades into the background and slips out of the room. The face before me is nominally calm, but I see his eyes and I know what's boiling inside him.

"_K'diwa_," he whispers. "_K'hat'n'dlawa_."

His mouth stops forming words and joins mine, softly, endlessly.

*

Reluctantly, and grumbling a warning that I'd better stay in bed, Doc releases me. I even convince him I can get home alone, and I manage to enter our quarters and lock the door, leaning on it a moment before I stumble to the bedroom. I pull off my clothes and run a shallow bath, standing in the tub while using the attachment to gently wash off dirt and soothe my skin. When I'm done I stand, stiffly; my joints are sore from being pulled and tied and from running for my life. I wrap up in a big towel and find just enough strength to sink down on the bed, and my mind sinks further, into sleep.

When I wake up the room is dim and I've been moved, out of my towel and under the covers, on my side again. Finding no Spock in the bed, I lean up and open my mouth to call him, but he's already entering the room from the living area. He comes to sit on the bed in his usual off-duty black.

"Have you slept well?" he asks.

"Pretty well," I say and reach for him, but he evades my hands.

"Forgive me," he mutters. "It's best for you that we do not touch just yet."

"Why? What's wrong?" I fold my hands in my lap, avoiding temptation.

He looks at me for a minute without speaking.

"You are beautiful, little one," he says. "Beautiful and brave. But I do not think you could stand to share my emotions, my thoughts, at this moment. Since your capture I have been experiencing high levels of mental and emotional stress. Even now that you're back among us, I am having difficulty processing and relieving that stress. And it is becoming clear to me that physical contact between us has evolved into something like an emotional link. I would not subject you to such negative emotions as I have been wrestling with."

I remember the sense of being in his head while I was on the planet. "I wasn't touching you on the planet -- and I saw what you were thinking and doing."

His expression is one of shock.

"You saw my thoughts?"

"Sensed is more like it. It was as though I were looking through your eyes. It happened once before, here, and I forgot to ask you about it."

"Can you sense them now?"

I concentrate, but all I can feel is myself. "No, nothing."

"That could be a result of my current level of control." He rises and paces. I lie back down on my side and watch him puzzling something out. I've almost fallen asleep again when I feel him come to rest, lying on his side facing me.

"Do you trust me? Not just with your body, but with your mind?" he murmurs.

"I do, Spock. With my life."

Then he tells me, "I will attempt a mind meld; it may help both of us process our emotions, or it may simply exacerbate them. I will try not to push any further than you can stand."

I nod and his fingers come up to touch my face, at particular points that I know will facilitate the meld. I hear him murmuring.

"My mind to your mind...my thoughts to your thoughts...we are one, and together."

We _are_ one. Our eyes are closed, but I can sense him in my head as though I were receiving a transmission. He seems cautious.

_Is this difficult for you?_ he asks in my mind.

_Not really. Just different._

I see, as if in a blurry holovid, his perception of me once more, but different than it was. This me is squatting behind a tree on the colony planet, stick in hand, naked and bruised but belligerent, challenging. The emotion he feels when he sees me is entirely primal - _my mate, my woman_ - lust mixed with fierce pride and triumph.

_But first you should see this_, he thinks, and plucks an earlier memory to show me: as I lay tied down and beaten, his shock at the realization that he is seeing me, knows where I am and what is happening to me.

He cannot move quickly enough. He bursts onto the bridge and moves swiftly to the command chair, trying to keep his voice low.

"Jim -- we have to go back. Back to the colony."

"Spock?" Kirk stares at his friend. "What do you mean? Why?"

"The message Starfleet sent said that other ships had responded to the emergency call," says Spock rapidly. "Sufficient aid is available. I ask that you return to the colony with all haste."

"What's going on there that we have to hurry to?"

Spock lowers his voice even more.

"One of our crewmembers is being held captive and tortured."

"Tortured! By whom?" Kirk wants to leap into action, she can tell, but this is one crazy story he's hearing.

"By another of the crew. Captain, they were supposed to have beamed up together; the transport logs show that they did. But she is not here--she is nowhere on the ship, and I am sensing something-- "

He breaks off, as if listening. Understanding dawns on the captain's face.

"Your Ensign. She's missing."

Spock nods. "Yes, along with Ensign Samuels. I can't explain the perceptions I'm having, Jim, but they are both hidden somewhere on the planet, and he is torturing her, for what reason I do not know."

Kirk holds the Vulcan's gaze for a few seconds only. Then he turns toward the helm and says, "Mr. Sulu, plot a course back to the colony, maximum warp."

He looks back at Spock, who slumps fractionally in relief.

Now I see Spock as he was later, lying in bed, not sleeping, just marking time until _Enterprise_ reaches orbit. I now know that he hasn't been able to find me in his mind since the cry for help he sensed earlier. He must analyze the situation logically, consider all the possible scenarios. Including any that include my death.

Death is not unfamiliar to him. He has seen death, has had to deliver it, has known the death of people he cared about. He cannot imagine living past my death and remaining unbroken. He's both surprised and appalled at the realization.

_I knew I loved you_, he says through our link, _and that you loved me. I was unaware of how essential you are to my life._

_Essential_, I echo. I hope he can feel my joy.

His memories continue, and I see them all through the meld. I see him rise the next day without having slept at all, emerging from the night still disturbed by his introspection but determined to accomplish my rescue. He beams down to the deserted colony base with a handful of security and medical personnel, and tricorder readings lead them to Samuels' campsite, also deserted. I have already escaped into the forest, with Samuels on my trail.

The landing party tries to locate either of us with the tricorder, but its range is limited. While the others are still scanning, Spock stares down at the pallet, recognizing it from my memory, and closes his eyes to concentrate.

"This way," he says suddenly to one of the medics, and he plunges into the brush, the woman following in his long-legged wake. His mind is full of my thoughts, a vision of hands sharpening wood, trees, a murky stream, the giddiness of hunger and fear that fills me as I hide, not knowing who could be coming. He projects reassurance and encouragement and finally hears my voice, faintly, with those powerful ears of his. He veers off his original track and comes upon a grove where he hears me call clearly, spots my filthy hair as I peek from between the trees.

He is upon me in a moment, reaching to help me up as I reach for his hands; he extricates me from my lair, requests an article of clothing from one of the security men who have caught up with him. Spock wraps me carefully in the shirt and without another word returns to the site where I was held hostage.

Spock's memory goes further, and I go with him through the meld. He sees Samuels, found with the tricorder scans and captured without apparent injury; he had no weapon, thinking a small young woman would be his only adversary. Spock almost staggers when he senses my revulsion, and he sets me down on a stone and turns to confront the man who has abused his, Spock's, woman, has trespassed violently on the Vulcan's most precious ground, who stands with no remorse in his expression or posture. Indeed, Samuels looks almost pleased with himself, if not for carrying out his twisted plan, then at least for bringing me and Spock to this state.

Before I can witness Spock's thoughts during his attack on Samuels, his mind draws mine away, forward, to when he became more lucid and Samuels was hanging bloodied between two security guards. _There are some thoughts which are too dark for me to share, even with you, k'diwa_, he tells me. _You should not have seen this much. However_...

He shows me his experience in Sickbay, standing near my head with his hand on my tangled hair, watching McCoy and Tanaka examining me, cleaning and treating my wounds -- some of them; McCoy turns to Spock and says gruffly, "We'll take it from here, Spock," as he is about to uncover the trauma incurred below my waistline. Spock's ire rises again, but then he realizes that he has trusted my life to McCoy before, and he nods, brushes his hand over my unconscious face, exits the room to wait until the moment he is allowed back in. As he waits, he tries to center himself with images of tenderness, the last time we made love, my smiling face when he enters our quarters...

I reach back through our connection and convey to him how those exact memories and feelings kept me alive in the forest. We both feel something like a smile through the meld, and he says in my mind, _During our worst ordeal, even without this meld, our thoughts were one and the same_. I feel his wonder, and I send him mine.

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	34. Mind

_Disclaimers in previous chapters._

_

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_

**Chapter 34. Mind.  
**

This chapterwritten by **TalesFromTheSpockSide**.

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**

As images and emotions flow to their conclusion, back into the present, Spock says to my mind, _You see what has happened to me, a man whose delight was in enjoying many women, many ways. I now desire only you._

I open my eyes and he's watching me, his fingers still steady on my face, and in my mind I see myself as he sees me, once more, beautiful and sensuous and strong, inside and outside. My mind sends back my vision of him, brilliance and beauty, the physical fused with the intellectual, delighting all my senses.

Spock withdraws his fingers and his mind, but I can still sense him faintly in mine.

"Will it last?" I whisper. He smiles.

"The bond, or our love?"

I know the answer to the second question. He leans up on one long arm and kisses my uninjured cheek, softly, then moves his mouth over my face to nuzzle my neck. I don't need a bond to sense his desire and I say, "Yes," and slip my arm around his neck, pulling him into a long, hot kiss. He sighs and his hand moves gently along my side, down to my hip, sliding around to lay his palm on my mound. I press against it gently and he says, "You must tell me if you experience any discomfort."

"Mmmmm hmmm," I murmur against his shoulder. I have an idea that might satisfy both of us and I push on his shoulder until he lies on his back.

"Take 'em off, Commander," I smile and he complies with alacrity, shucking off his clothes to reveal the body I never tire of, and a promising erection rearing against his belly as he lies back down. I push the covers aside and roll slowly on top of him, legs apart for balance, arms folded on his broad chest.

"And now?" he inquires.

Now I start to rub my soft stomach against his hardness, slipping down until the tip of his penis is just touching my navel, and he closes his eyes and runs his hands over my arms, to my shoulders, to stroke my face and hair, finally down to cup my breasts and tease my nipples. I want his mouth on them. I want to be sure I'm ready for him and I move up a little and spread myself open just enough to spread my labia open on his cock. He stills, waiting, watching.

"I'm sore," I tell him. "But it's worse in other places. And I want you, I want to feel you inside me, only you..."

I push up on my arms, about to take him into my body, but his hands pull me up further, until I'm positioned over his face and he pulls me down into his mouth, hot and wet and tender on my aching sex. Something like relief flows through me and I don't care whether it's my own sensation or his; I sigh and relax and just let it be.

Spock doesn't try to bring me to climax; he's simply loving me, comforting me better than anything could. Almost reluctantly, he releases me and guides my body back down to where I want it, now poised over his cock. I let the tip of it sink into me, carefully, and now that I'm aroused it's not as painful as I thought it might be. Encouraged, I slide down a little more--a little more--until at last our bodies are joined snugly. Neither of us seems in a hurry to finish each other off, though; for a few minutes I just lie on his chest and he strokes my hair, still hard inside me.

I try pushing my hips down a bit. It's not my insides that hurt, as it happens; the motion stretches the damaged skin on my legs and behind and I stop, stinging and aching.

"Spock, I'm--"

"Sh," he says softly. "Stay there. I will take care of you."

I'm in a half-sitting position, leaning over on top of him; he strokes his palms all over my torso, warming my skin, settling back on my breasts and coaxing my nipples into hard nubs. I'm wetter than ever and I'm wondering how this will end, when I sense Spock in my mind once more.

_Let me touch you, ashayam_, he says, and I dip my head slightly for him to reach my contact points with one hand, the other on my shoulder, steadying me. I close my eyes, he opens his mind to mine, and his need almost overwhelms me. I feel his hand in my hair, his mouth on mine, and the gentle undulation of his hips under me, no pain, no difficulty.

_How is this happening?_ My mental voice is astonished and his is delighted.

_In the physical world we are not moving_, he explains. _But here--here in our minds I can pleasure you without hurting you. Can you feel it?_

I can, as though it were actually happening to my 'real' body: his mouth on my nipple, his hands on my ass, pulling me hard against him as he thrusts up into me, my own body responding with increasing urgency. The orgasm that explodes in my mind also fills my body, even though neither of us has moved at all, and I feel his release as well, his organ throbbing inside me both in my mind and in my sex.

I open my eyes. His hands and mouth and penis are all right where they've been all along. My injuries still hurt. But we're both panting and sated and he eases me off him and onto my belly on the bed. He strokes my hair and when I get my breath I ask, "So what was that? Mind sex?"

His smile is sly. "I don't know. I've never tried it before. It seemed to produce the desired effect, however."

I reach for his hand and hold it against my lips, just feeling him, kissing his fingers, as sleep overtakes us.

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	35. Bragging Rights

Disclaimers in previous chapters.

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**Chapter 35. Bragging Rights.**

This chapter is written by **TalesFromTheSpockSide**.  


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"Forty-six."

A familiar voice drops this comment in my ear as I put my tool kit away in my locker at the end of my shift. I spin around to see my pal, the one who's seeing Dr. McCoy, grinning like a cat.

"Forty-six what?"

"He's forty-six. I found out last night."

"So he is older than Spock. I thought all that crustiness was just a put-on."

"Nah," she says, falling into step as I head for the lift. "According to him, he's always been the grumpy sort. Says it's part of his charm."

I grin back. McCoy is my doctor and confidant, but he doesn't know that I know that he's shagging one of my friends. She and I like to get together once in a while and brag about our senior officers.

"Coming over tonight?" she asks.

"Why don't you come to our place," I say impulsively. "Spock's on the swing shift tonight; he won't be back until midnight. We can talk all we want."

Besides, I want to show off my digs. Our digs. She nods and we set a time, after dinner, which Spock is responsible for tonight. I cruise back to said digs and find said officer setting out food on the table.

"Greetings," I say and he pauses so I can lean up and kiss his cheek. "How's your shift going?"

"Very well," he says as we sit down to eat. "I anticipate a quiet evening. And you, do you have any plans, little one?"

I love when he calls me that.

"I'm having a friend over for some social interaction," I tell him. I rein in the urge to ask if that's okay; he's made it clear that this is no longer only his home and I am not a guest in it.

Spock nods approvingly. "Your colleague from Engineering?" I have many colleagues, but he knows which one I mean and I nod in turn. We finish our meal and he leads me over to the couch, pulling me down on his lap for a quick snuggle. He's good at that, although not always so good at gauging when I need it, so he errs on the side of caution and embraces me - in private - whenever possible. I get to spend ten minutes or so curled up in his arms, exchanging kisses and touches, and then he has to go back on shift. Good thing I'm not; I'm going to have to cool down before my buddy gets here.

She arrives and I show her around a bit; it's not luxurious by any means, but there's certainly more room than in the junior officers' quarters. She catches sight of the ahn woon hung decoratively on the wall and gives me a look.

"Whips and chains, eh?"

"That's just Vulcan decor for you," I scoff, but I start eyeing the leather strap speculatively. I wonder whether it would be sufficient to wrap him in. With an effort I bring my mind back to the conversation and add, "He's never hit me with anything but his hand on my backside."

"Ooh, spanking." She settles down on the couch and I curl up at the other end. "Did you get to return the favor?"

"Not yet," I smirk. "What about the good doctor?"

"For a guy who looks and talks like an old prude," she says, "he's awfully broad-minded about sex. For example, the straps on the biobed."

"Been there, done that," I say, and we laugh. I doubt whether anything she's done with Doc can outshine my escapades with Spock. I'm wrong, however.

"Okay, how about zero-gee?" she smirks back. "Tried that yet?" At my double eyebrow raise she laughs. "Don't tell me I'm one up on you."

"Where did you find zero-gee to try it in?" I ask.

"Why don't you ask your boyfriend?" she says slyly.

"Ah, come on. I warned you about the decon chamber camera."

"Hmm..."

"You tell me where to find zero-gee, and I'll tell you..." What can I tell her? Not about pon farr, obviously. Aha, I have it. "I'll tell you the most unique sex I've ever had with Spock."

"Unique how?"

"Tell, and find out."

She looks skeptical but goes ahead and tells me where there's a "dead spot" in the inertial dampeners, back by one of the aft storage areas.

"We found it by accident," she says. "We were coming out of one of the other storage areas and we heard somebody coming, and as soon as we ducked into this little alcove we started floating. It takes you up into an access tube, and then a little holding area where you can get another tube all the way up to the back forty in Engineering."

She's kept her part of the bargain, so I keep mine.

"I guarantee you will never have this kind of sex with the doc," I tease her. "Once, when I was injured, he was comforting me and we both got really hot, but I couldn't stand moving around too much. We got to where he was inside me but neither of us could move without my back or my legs hurting."

"Bummer. I take it a blowjob was in order?"

"No, because he wanted me to come, too. So we melded."

"You what?"

"The Vulcan mind meld, you know."

"No, I don't know. What the heck is a mind meld?"

I find I lack the words to describe this experience; I have to sit and think for a minute.

"Well, you know Vulcans are touch telepaths. In addition to sensing emotions, they can perform a meld, where their mind and the subject's mind can interact, like talking to each other, only without words. Mostly they use it among themselves, but they can meld with other species if they need to."

"So he's done this before?" She's fascinated.

"On occasion. Usually when he needs to communicate with a being that can't talk, or with someone who's hurt or comatose. It has to be deliberate - it isn't done through casual contact."

"Geez, Vulcan neurology, who knew? How does sex come into it?"

"When they're emotionally in tune with somebody - " I'm a little vague on how this works exactly, so I don't try to guess - "they can share emotions and sensations with the other person, as well as thoughts. Spock melded with me and imagined us making love, and even though we weren't moving at all we both climaxed. It was unbelievable."

"Damn." She's staring at me now. "That sounds really weird. But really hot. Can all Vulcans do it?"

"I don't know. All I care about is mine." We grin at each other and I say, "Tell me about doing it in zero-gee."

She gives me a few tips. I give us both a few glasses of wine, something I indulge in rarely but which goes so well with girl talk. She starts to loosen up considerably.

"What's his favorite position?" I ask, trying to picture them.

She gazes dreamily past my shoulder for a minute and then says, "Damn, he's good at all of 'em. But I'd have to say, his favorite is doing it from behind. He says it's the best way to get to all his favorite parts - my clit and my tits with his hands. And sometimes he kind of bites my neck, too." She giggles.

So it's not just my Vulcan who likes to sink his teeth in, I muse.

"What I really want to know is - " Her voice drops to a whisper, as though the room were being monitored. "Do you let him fuck your ass?"

"Wellll..." I can't possibly reveal that the only anal penetration I've had lately was with a would-be rapist and my lust-crazed lover, and that neither was any fun. I distract her with a counterplay. "He let me do it to him once. With my fingers." I shiver with pleasant memories of that night. Her jaw has dropped.

"No kidding! I have got to get Leonard to let me do that to him. He does it to me, it only seems fair."

"Does he really? Talk about playing doctor."

Her grin is back. "Oh, yeah. He knows exactly how to prep, how hot he has to get me - he usually makes me come once or twice first - how far to go in, how hard to thrust. And the orgasm, it's like nothing else, for both of us."

It's an activity I recall dimly, from a long ago lover. I want to remember how it's supposed to feel, not the crude fuckery that's been done to me recently. I give her an encouraging look, and another glass of wine.

"The first time," she begins, "we'd been together about a month; we'd done it lots of ways, just not that way. He told me that when it was done right it was mind-blowing and I should consider it. He never tries to talk me into doing stuff I don't want. Anyway, I did consider it and I told him, since he knew what he was doing I'd rather try it with him than with anyone."

"Did you have to do anything special, to get ready?"

"Not really. We took a shower together first so we were both squeaky clean, and we lay down on the bed and snuggled and kissed for a while, and he asked if I was nervous and I said a little. He said, 'Don't worry, honey, I'll take care of you. You just yell stop if you need me to stop.'"

"Such a gentleman," I murmur, and I mean it.

"So first he went down on me, for hours it seems, and let me tell you he's good at that too! He made me come two or three times, I lost track, and then while he was finishing me off the last time he started playing with my backside."

"Playing with it?"

"You know, between my cheeks, tickling, rubbing - he got some lube on his hand, nice and warm and slippery. He looked up at me and said, 'Ready?' and I was a little confused, because I thought he was going to do it, all the way, if you know what I mean. But he took a finger and pushed it in - " She shudders; I'm getting hot just listening to her. "It was so, so good, and so naughty at the same time. He pushed in another finger, and all the while he was watching my face and I know I looked like a stupid drunk, it was that hot."

We both giggle; we've both had that face.

"Leonard said, 'You want it now, honey?' and I just nodded, I could hardly speak. He grinned that sly grin of his and said, 'Do you?' and pushed his fingers in further and I kind of barked at him 'yes, dammit!' or something to that effect. And he laughed and I thought he was going to flip me over and do it from behind, but instead he leaned up over me and pushed my knees up against my shoulders and said, 'Hold on tight, now,' and lubed up some more ..."

She's gone off into daydreamland again and I prompt her. "And - ?"

"And you'd think it'd be too tight for something that thick, you know? But it was a good, snug kind of tight. He took it really slow and that just made me wilder. I don't know how he managed to control himself. He got most of the way in and started to slide in and out - " She closes her eyes. I can see the lust in her face as she goes on, " - and he started to mutter and swear and tell me how hot I was, so I knew he was getting close. The feeling, when he came, it was so - full, and tight, and I came without even touching any of my hot spots. It was deeper, harder, than the other way. I don't know how else to describe it."

She opens her eyes to look at me and says, "And I have to go now and find that man and jump his bones, because just thinking about it means I have to put these panties in the wash now."

We both burst out laughing. Just then the door opens and my roommate comes in, ahead of schedule. He looks at the two of us chortling away and merely raises an eyebrow, then says politely, "Good evening, ladies. I trust I haven't interrupted anything."

"No, I was just going, sir," says my friend. She gives me an impressed look, as if to say "yum," then looks at him with an odd expression, and I can't tell if she's trying to imagine mind sex or spanking or me fingering his ass. "I have to go see Dr. McCoy." She grins at me one more time and slips out. I turn to Spock and start laughing again at his puzzled expression.

"I don't believe the doctor is currently on duty," he says.

"He will be, for her," I tell him. In order to avoid explaining that remark I launch myself at his tall, hot, delicious, mind-blowing body, and nature takes its course.

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	36. Seduction

_Disclaimers in previous chapters._

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**Chapter 36. Seduction.**

This chapter written by **ejectingthecore**.

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He gets up earlier than I do, without fail. Every morning, I wake to the mingled scents of our still-warm bed and spiced tea, and I drift into consciousness with a smug grin on my face. I am the only woman waking up with this divine man in the next room. Sometimes he even comes back to join me in bed and hold me while I wake, and today is one of those days. He slides under the covers, and while he is dressed in the soft clothes he wears "around the house," I am nude.

In the sweetness of our bed, the considerable length of his body presses up against my back. He molds himself against my bent knees, and he places heavy, hot kisses on the back of my neck and shoulder. Despite our difference in height, when we curl up this way, our hips nearly match. I feel him hard against my buttocks and give him a sly "Good morning." Nothing like a Vulcan who's ready to go at 0600.

I'm sleepy and unfettered and I just come out and ask him something I've been wondering ever since my last girl talk with my friend. "Commander, why don't you ever take me this way?" I press back into him suggestively and make a physical offer that's hard to miss.

"_Wuh-lan,_" he kisses my neck. "I will adore your body in every way you will allow me…" He stops and seems to correct himself, "Every way you wish." I smile at his sort-of selfish slip up. I don't mind at all.

"You've been so careful with me. Please don't be afraid of me."

There's some silence, then Spock's voice actually cracks. "You have been injured, by…" His revulsion and anger are palpable. "By another…" His head hits my shoulder. "…and by me…."

I don't dwell on this statement, just make it clear." All the more reason to love me this way." A logical argument, I think smugly. I push back even harder against him, and he closes his free arm tight around me. I know it arouses him, that he really wants this. He thinks he hides his desire to take me anally, tries to keep it in check because of how I've been hurt. But I want it too. I want to feel this most intimate kind of lovemaking done with affection instead of blind need or calculated violation.

My seduction is working on him, and I deliver the _coup de grace_, the words that make it impossible for him to say no. "Make it different for me, lover."

He gives in. His arm loosens its grip and his hand travels down my hip and to my buttocks, turns so his palm can carefully and gently massage me. "Anything you wish," he tells me, and it sends a physical thrill through my body. He rubs his erect penis between my cheeks, and I sigh and give over to him.

He moves away and I miss his warmth terribly, but he's simply pushing off his pants, getting what we need. Something to lubricate us both. The anticipation is maddening. His nude body lies down behind me, and his slick fingers find me. He gradually presses into my anus and the very thought of it, let alone the feeling of him penetrating me this way, sends shivers through the length of my body. He moves his finger, eventually adds another, and I'm practically begging him with my body, pushing and riding his fingers, as he spreads me agonizingly slowly.

Finally, I feel something more than his fingers pushing against my opening, and the sensation of his hard, wet cock drives me wild. The most recent times I've done this it's been terrifying, and a bit of fear works its way through my gut, but I let it go and relax. He loves me. This time he won't hurt me. He pushes against my opening, and in a second he's just inside me. He hesitates and I make it known I want more. Every bit feels intensely good, burning, but a beautiful flame. I meet his impossibly slow thrust and let out a long, low animal groan unlike any sound I've made in my life. Spock is apparently thrilled by it, because he groans long and low too as he pushes the last few centimeters into my body and we are joined.

His voice is so deep it's like rocks tumbling into my mind. "_Ashayam_, are you well? Do you wish me to move inside you?"

I gasp "Please" and he moves out of me and back in so carefully I want to kill him. He picks up the pace and I lose all capacity for thought as the sensation of being filled with him, and powerful waves of pleasure take me over. We rock together this way for some time, me gripping the sheets and panting, him gripping my shoulders and moaning. Then he carefully pushes me over onto my stomach and rolls on top of my back, never parting from me. He lies down snug against me, closer than he could ever get during our usual lovemaking. The pressure inside me changes with the angle and it's electric. It's an unknown sensual pleasure, and it drives me over the edge into an orgasm deep inside. I moan like never before and the sound of it pushes him over the edge, too, and he snarls against my hair, his body stutters and he lets go inside me.

He's breathing heavy and threatens to crush me, and finally he rolls us back onto our sides where he withdraws from me, never hurting me. I feel like my muscles have liquefied and I allow myself to go completely soft. I let out a dry, silent sob--a grateful moment of relief from all the horrible associations this act has brought up for too long. I'm glad he doesn't say anything, just rests his chin on the top of my head.

After a quiet moment he speaks, gravely. "I love you, little one, but I am afraid I have bad news. We must go to work." I laugh and feel too, too lucky that I get to experience his little teases. I take one more deep breath before letting him go, and I rise and walk to the shower. He watches me all the way, and I feel beautiful in his eyes. I'll feel beautiful all day.

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_Wuh-lan_ = ensign.


	37. Ablutions

_Disclaimers in previous chapters._

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**Chapter 37. Ablutions.**

This chapter written by **TalesFromTheSpockSide**.

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I'm coming off shift, another grubby one, where I've had to crawl here, there, and everywhere down in the "dungeon" as Mr. Scott calls it, checking conduits, adjusting couplings, whatever. Fortunately I knew about this routine and I wore my uniform pants instead of the skirt. Mr. Scott seemed a little disappointed. I'm sure he likes those skirts, but there's no way he's getting a look up mine.

That view is reserved for my Vulcan. I smile, remembering various opportunities he's had to do more than look. My pace quickens; I'm headed for a hot bath and a little self-stimulation. Spock is part of a landing party that isn't due to return for some hours, so I'm on my own.

I enter our quarters and stop in my tracks; I think I'm seeing things.

"Spock! You're back early," I say with a smile. He comes toward me, but I hold up a hand. "No, no, I'm filthy. I got to wallow in various residue and lubricants today."

"Indeed," he says with an eyebrow up. "Lubricants, you say?"

"Indeed," I laugh. "So I'm going to go draw a nice, hot bath and soak out all the grime." I go into the bedroom and kick off my boots, then realize he's still out in the living area. I poke my head around the door jamb and say pointedly, "You can keep me company if you like."

"If it is agreeable to you."

"It is. Get in here." I love bossing him around. As I toss my clothes into the cleaning unit I ask, "So what happened with the landing party?"

Spock sits on the bed, watching. "The planet is unremarkable," he replies, a little absently. "Some of the away team wished to remain overnight. To 'camp out', I believe. Dr. McCoy and Lt. Nichols are in charge."

I grin, drop my tights into the cleaner and turn to sashay into the lavatory. This time he follows, almost silently; he has left his boots next to mine and removed his socks as well.

I start the water. One of the perks of being Spock's lover is our bath/shower combo; it's not very long, but deep, and there's a hose attachment. Usually I add bubbles to my bath, but not this time; I'm going to have an audience and I want him to have a good view.

Spock takes a seat on the chair nearby, elbows on his knees, casual, as if waiting for a transport. There's about two inches of water in the bottom of the tub when I step in and activate the shower head. I completely ignore my companion as I apply soap, shampoo, conditioner. At one point I'm covered in suds and I sneak a look toward the chair, and then nearly lose my footing.

Spock has disrobed and hung up his uniform over the back of the chair. He's not leaning casually on his knees any more; he sits back in the chair, arms folded across his manly chest, knees apart, watching me. Watching my gaze drop to take in the view of his erection standing proudly up out of his thatch of black hair.

He catches my eye and cocks an eyebrow as if to say, "What did you expect?"

I laugh and grab the shower hose attachment, switching over so it's the only source of water now. The water pressure is at medium and I start at the top of my head, rinsing out the soap and dirt, making sure I don't miss a bend or crevice anywhere.

When I get down to waist level I thumb the dial so the pressure increases; it's like having firm fingers stroking my skin. I place one hand on the wall of the shower and direct the water down the cleft in my backside, then slowly move the hose round to spray over my mound. I didn't get any dirt there, of course, but I'm sure Spock will approve of my attention to detail.

He certainly looks approving. His arms have unfolded and one hand rests on his knee; the other holds the base of his penis, not stroking, just gripping, as if trying to hold himself back. His eyes smolder. I get an idea.

Bending over, I pay close attention to washing off my feet, turn off the hose, then plug up the drain so the tub will fill. I sit down in the hot water, leaning back against the tub, feet together, knees apart.

"This is when I like to soak," I say to my audience. "Usually I have a bubble bath, and I lie here and think and daydream until I'm ready to go to sleep."

"And what do you dream of, my Ensign?" asks my Commander, softly.

"You, of course." The water is up to my waist as I sit. I put my hands behind my head and stretch and my breasts and belly stick out toward him. "I think about our first time, in the shuttle, where you found out I don't wear a bra."

"A most welcome discovery," he muses and I see his fingers tighten on his cock, still not stroking, but touching, squeezing gently.

"And where I found out how good you are at cunnilingus," I continue, my eyes half closed. "Then I think about all the times you've gone down on me. In the shuttle, in the access tube - " oh, God, in the access tube! I pause to savor it. "--the first time here in your quarters--"

"I fantasized about tasting you," he says roughly, "during our first time in the decon chamber."

"And then you did it, the second time." The memory makes me grin. "After you spanked me."

He breathes deeply and closes his eyes. That's not part of my plan. The water has come up to barely cover my breasts and I shut off the main faucet, turning on the hose attachment again. He hears the change and opens his eyes again. Good.

"I like to do this with the hose," I say and bring it up, directing the narrow flow of water against my nipple, so warm, so good. "I got to tie you down once, remember? I want you to restrain me and torment my breasts and everything else until I beg you to take me."

"Noted and logged," he assures me. I can see his hand stroke once, up and down, and a trace of semen is seeping from his head. I continue to lave my breasts and my other hand dips down into the water to comb through the hair between my legs.

Obviously he wants a better view. He grabs a folded towel, tossing it on the floor next to the tub and kneeling on it, sitting back on his heels, eyes traveling over my wet body as I spread myself with my fingers.

"Spock," I whisper. I'm getting close. His eyes are like fire stroking my skin. This man, this sexual animal, kneels before me as if waiting my command and I can't stand it any more. I plunge the hose under the surface, thumbing the dial up to nearly-full intensity, and aim the stream directly between my labia, water rushing over my clit, just right, just...just..there...

"Spock! Ah!" This time it isn't a whisper; my cry echoes in the small room and my convulsion makes the water in the tub rock. I manage to keep my eyes open, fixed on his, and his mouth opens a little and his eyes glaze over as he witnesses my release.

When the waves in my body and in the tub subside, I open the drain to let the water out, still holding the hose, and get on my knees in the tub. And beckon to him.

There's just room in the tub for him to stand before me as I kneel. I hand him the hose and he takes it and covers his body with the spray, beginning at his hair and traveling downward. I just watch, until he gets down to his waist, then I take the hose in one hand and some soap in the other. I set the hose down, the stream flowing around his toes, and lavish my soapy attentions on his sex. He's facing the corner of the shower stall and he puts his hands out to steady himself against the wall, watching my fingers stroking and exploring. He must be using some of that Vulcan control; he's still hard but not rock hard.

I'll take care of that.

I take the hose, turn it down a bit and rinse the area I just washed. He sighs like a happy cat and shifts his legs, spreading his feet a little more. Once all the soap is off I take him in my hand and kiss his head, lick it, pull it into my mouth, just the head. My reward is feeling him get even harder, tasting a little come getting ready to spill, a soft moan from above my head. I squeeze his shaft firmly and stroke a little, and my other hand finds the hose, turns the pressure up significantly, and I bring it up to press it between his buttocks, directing a stream of warm water over his anus.

He roars. There is no other word for it. The sound sends a jolt of triumph through my body and he explodes in my mouth, not even thrusting, his cock jerking and throbbing against my tongue, his arms and legs planted for dear life. The sound of his ecstasy rings, dies away, and I turn off the water and stand as he gasps and shudders.

One of his arms leaves the wall to grab me around the waist and pull me in for a deep, hot kiss. He says something in his native language; I don't ask what it means. I never do; the translation could never sound as seductive. I reach out and pull a bath sheet from the rack and wrap it around both of us, as my own skin is cooling fast and I know he must be feeling even chillier.

"What is usually the next part of your evening?" he asks as we towel each other dry and move quickly back to the bedroom, under the covers, to warm each other.

"I go to bed and dream some more," I tell him and feel his breath against my cheek as he chuckles and rolls me up in his arms.

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	38. Sex and Newton

**This is a collaborative story.**

This chapter is written by **TalesFromTheSpockSide**.

Neither of us owns anything Star Trek.

**38. Sex and Newton**

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"This is the place, I'm sure of it."

Spock and I are standing outside storage area 14 in the bowels of Engineering, looking at an alcove with a ladder leading up into semidarkness. He glances up into the tube and confirms, "It has the correct designation. Shall we make an attempt?"

My friend told me this alcove led to an access tube that had a gravitational "blind spot" - that is, an area where gravity approached null and one could enjoy the experience. She's experienced it all right, with her lover, and under duress she revealed the place.

"We shall," I grin at him and he gestures.

"Ladies first."

I step into the alcove and don't feel any difference, so I start climbing the ladder. Spock follows after a brief pause, and he seals the alcove door before he begins to ascend.

I sense a change; it's getting easier to climb. I take one foot and one hand off the ladder; definitely feeling lighter. I keep climbing and soon realize that I'm not so much climbing as guiding myself, and I let go of the ladder, continuing to float slowly up. I laugh and it echoes in the tube.

"You feel it, then," says Spock from under my feet.

"Oh, yes. I remember this now from basic training."

My head emerges into a smallish, dimly lit room with curved walls; the ladder continues upward into more darkness. I know that it comes out near the port nacelle strut, a path rarely traveled by any of the crew, even those of us from Engineering.

Spock slides slowly upward into the room and looks around. "This seems to have sufficient space for our purposes," he says. "Remember to move slowly."

"Yes, sir," I murmur and reach for his hand. We pull on each other, he less strongly in order to offset my lesser force, trying to keep from flinging each other around. The name of the game in zero-grav is Newtonian physics: for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

It's going to be interesting making love and trying to think about physics at the same time.

We decided previously not to disrobe completely; not only might we be discovered, but unless we anchored our clothes to something they might drift away while we were busy. We're both wearing non-regulation workout clothes with nothing underneath; they're loose and comfortable and, frankly, easy to make out in. (We tested this theory last night.) My hair is confined in a clip, and we're tethered to each other with something like the classic bungee cords, attached to the sides of our soft belts, which should yank us together if we push apart. Kind of like thrusting in reverse. The very thought makes my sex tingle.

"I can't say much for the ambiance," I say as our bodies move closer to each other.

"What may be lacking in decor and lighting," Spock murmurs, wrapping his long arms around me, "is forgotten in the vision of your beauty, k'diwa."

My romantic Vulcan slides a hand slowly up my back, under my shirt, and I hook my legs around him, trying not to push or pull but to balance. We flow into each other, grasping lightly, and in agonizingly slow motion his lips touch mine. I fight back the urge to push against them; their momentum carries them forward and our mouths latch on to each other. I feel Spock's fingers move up to my face, reaching my contact points to establish a link that will last even when his hand moves away.

_Docking maneuver initiated_, comes his thought through the link. I giggle, then gasp into his mouth as the hand that had been spread over my back slides downward, insinuating under my waistband to grip my behind. The hand that had touched my face trails down my front, one finger dragging down the zip in the front of my top. He unzips down to just above my navel and lets his hand float back upward, to guide his fingers under the fabric, brushing my already swelling nipple. His palm curves around the shape of my breast and he hums approvingly.

"I've always enjoyed your breasts, in many ways," he murmurs. "The added sensation of weightlessness gives them a shape I have not encountered before."

He takes hold of my waist and pushes me slightly, so that his head moves below my shoulders, and I hold onto his shoulders as he glides forward to push his mouth under my top, reaching forward with his tongue to taste my nipple. He can't really get hold of it with his lips - that would require more pressure - so he licks and teases it and I realize that the most agonizingly hot component of this is the fact that no matter how aroused we get, we can't indulge in the usual pleasurable reactions - i.e. writhing, thrusting, rubbing. The most I can manage is gasping deeply at the thick wave of arousal that flows over me when his mouth touches my skin.

"I suggest that, in order to prevent the unfortunate dispersal of bodily fluids, we should pleasure each other orally," he whispers against my breast. "The only difficulty with that will be the friction typically required to sufficiently stimulate my penis."

I lose my train of thought listening to his clinical phraseology; if men knew how hot plain words were they'd use fewer of the dirty ones, I bet.

"I have an idea about that," I murmur. "Shall we give it a go?"

"I would like to spend some time here first," he says and his hands press against my spine, producing the desired effect of pressing my breast to his cheek. Nuzzling would probably bump me away, so he contents himself with more tongue play, his breath hot on my moistened skin. Through the haze of pleasure he's giving me, I take one of my floating feet, in soft shoes, and guide it between his legs to brush the instep against his crotch. It's his turn to gasp.

Gently he takes hold of my hips and applies pressure appropriately, in order to turn us both slowly into position. It's like sexual ballet; as his legs come within reach, I take hold of him by the thighs and feel him grasp mine. Our maneuver slows but doesn't stop us, and we keep spinning, lazily, carefully.

I feel Spock's hands move to my waist, pulling the elastic waistband of my pants inch by inch, until they're around my ankles, at which point he ingeniously tucks the cuffs into my socks to keep the pants from floating off. I grin and then quiver as his hands slide up the backs of my legs, guiding my sex to his waiting mouth. I spread my knees so he won't have to move too much to get in and he makes an approving noise as his face disappears between my thighs. Once again, his tongue is soft and tormenting rather than insistent and hard. I'm getting so aroused, so wet, and yet I don't know if it's going to be enough to reach orgasm.

I turn my mind and hands to my part of the task, slipping his pants down to just below his scrotum, which is oddly graceful in this microgravity, no longer pulled in one direction but floating happily unsupported. As is his penis, which seems even greener than usual but not quite as hard. I remember reading about 21st century astronauts who reported the ease of maintaining their erections in zero-g, due to the change in atmospheric pressure and its effect on blood flow and pressure. I follow Spock's example and guide him closer to my face, to lick his sack and tickle his hair with my lips. He groans into my sex and his grip on my ass tightens, and his penis twitches against my face. Some reactions even Vulcans can't control.

Spock latches his mouth firmly to my labia and digs into me with his tongue; even with no motion of his head or my hips, he can wiggle that damn thing as much as he wants. And he does; my clitoris is throbbing and aching as he licks and sucks, sealing his mouth over my entire genital area. As the tip of his cock bobs near my face I turn to take it in my mouth, one hand taking hold of the shaft and squeezing gently. My other hand has hold of his butt for balance and I'm groping for a good grip on it when I change my mind about my plan.

Keeping hold of his organ with my hand, I remove my other hand from his buttock and put two fingers in my mouth, sucking and wetting them. A little saliva isn't going to bother anyone if it gets loose, I think, and as quickly as I dare I slide my hand back around behind him, grope around a bit and find what I'm looking for. Into his anus goes one of my wet fingers as my mouth closes over his hot flesh again, and I feel an instant swelling of the shaft in my hand as I push both those fingers into his ass, carefully. I can feel him moaning into my sex, the vibration adding to the stimulation of his mouth.

I pull my fingers out, then push just one back in, mindful of the minimal lubrication but knowing where I'm headed. I keep my tongue busy on his head and milk his shaft by rolling the pressure of my fingers toward the head. Slowly the finger inside him curves and stretches and finally finds the soft texture of his prostate. I breathe deeply through my nose, preparing for the onslaught, and bend my finger just right -

I'm rewarded with a gush of delicious semen in my mouth and a loud cry against my clit, followed by the sensation of his fingers digging into my thighs and his tongue into my vagina; he's sucking and groaning and fucking me with that tongue, not hard but with a steady pull and stroke all up and down my lips. I let out a long deep moan, my mouth still full of his softening flesh, and I feel his ass relax as I withdraw my finger and close my hand on his tight backside.

We float for a while, literally suspended in bliss, and after a long time I hear Spock say, "Fascinating."

I grin and reply, in my best Spock imitation, "Indeed."*

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	39. PADD Messages

This is a collaborative story.

This chapter is written by **TalesFromTheSpockSide**.

Neither of us owns anything Star Trek.

**MORE Chapters to come soon! The story has been on hiatus, but we have some big adventures coming up.  
**

**39. PADD messages  
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Ensign: From Spock  
I am sorry to say that I will be in this strategy session until after dinnertime this evening. Please do not wait on my account.

Spock: From Ensign  
It's a big ship. I'll find something to do with myself.

Ensign: From Spock  
I trust you don't mean that literally.

Spock: From Ensign  
Would that bother you?

Ensign: From Spock  
Nothing that you do "bothers" me. However, I would prefer to perform that function whenever possible.

Spock: From Ensign  
Well, sometimes a girl's just got to have it. I can take care of myself.

Ensign: From Spock  
I do not doubt it.

[long pause]

Spock: From Ensign  
I'm off shift. Just FYI.

Ensign: From Spock  
Good to know you arrived home safely.

Spock: From Ensign  
Yes, my route was wrought with peril, but I survived. I'm going to have dinner in the mess hall and maybe see what's in the vid theater.

Ensign: From Spock  
Bon appetit.

[shorter pause]

Ensign: From Spock  
There is a break in the discussion. If you are in, will you please reply?

Spock: From Ensign  
I'm home. There wasn't anything interesting on vid.

Ensign: From Spock  
You are up to date on your journal reading, I believe.

Spock: From Ensign  
Yes, I am. Too early to go to bed, though.

Ensign: From Spock  
I regret that I have no suggestions for your amusement.

Spock: From Ensign  
That's all right, _k'diwa._ I'm amusing myself right now.

[short pause]

Ensign: From Spock  
May I ask whether that statement should be taken as a euphemism?

Spock: From Ensign  
A euphemism for what?

[short pause]

Ensign: From Spock  
Are you pleasuring yourself?

Spock: From Ensign  
Not yet.

[short pause]

Ensign: From Spock  
May I ask exactly what activity you are currently engaged in?

Spock: From Ensign  
You may ask. I don't want to distract you from your meeting.

Ensign: From Spock  
Too late for that.

[long pause]

Ensign: From Spock  
Mr. Scott and Mr. Kyle are having an argument which we are all being forced to endure.

[short pause]

Ensign: From Spock  
_K'diwa_, are you there?

[short pause]

Spock: From Ensign  
Hi! Sorry, I was in the shower and didn't see the padd light up. Is the argument still going?

Ensign: From Spock  
Yes. After that we must sit through committee reports.

Spock: From Ensign  
I'm still dripping. Let me go dry off.

[short pause]

Spock: From Ensign  
Okay, I'm back. Did I miss anything?

Ensign: From Spock  
No, and neither did I. What are you doing now?

Spock: From Ensign  
I'm sitting cross-legged on the bed, combing out my hair.

Ensign: From Spock  
A vision, to be sure.

Spock: From Ensign  
To be sure. Especially since I'm stark naked.

[short pause]

Ensign: From Spock  
Perhaps you should put on a robe. I am concerned about your body temperature.

Spock: From Ensign  
Are you kidding me? I live with a Vulcan, hence the high thermostat setting. Naked is the way to go. In fact, I think I'll go sit in that armchair you always use and think of you.

Ensign: From Spock  
You are attempting to tease me.

Spock: From Ensign  
How's it working for you?

Ensign: From Spock  
Your efforts are futile. I will set my padd to archive messages from you so that I may read them later.

[short pause]

Spock: From Ensign  
You do that, Commander.

[short pause]

Spock: From Ensign  
Hi there. Here's your first archive entry. I'm sitting in your armchair, not on the seat, but on the back. It's nice and wide, and I have my legs spread open resting on the seat. I'm sitting straight up, looking out the viewport at the stars. In case you're sneaking a look at my entries, I'd also like to point out that in spite of the warm room temperature, my nipples are standing on end. Hmm. Might have to investigate this more closely.

[short pause]

Spock: From Ensign  
Sorry about the delay. I had to put the padd down and use both hands. On my breasts, that is. I'm happy to report that the nipple hardening seems to be a perfectly normal reaction to being naked on a piece of furniture normally used by you. And I've figured out how to type one-handed while the other hand is busy.

[short pause]  
Ensign: From Spock  
It seems someone has tampered with my padd; I am unable to block messages from you in any way. I am at a loss as to why; although I hold a level A7 computer clearance, I haven't the time just now to investigate.

Spock: From Ensign  
Oh, goody.

Ensign: From Spock  
I will simply have to ignore any inappropriate comments and concentrate on the agenda.

Spock: From Ensign  
Good luck. Oh, by the way, I've activated the voice to text feature on the padd so now I can use both hands for other tasks.

[short pause]

Spock: From Ensign  
Here's my agenda, Commander. I'm leaning over the back of this chair, with my knees on the seat and my butt facing outward. Got that? My arms are folded under my breasts so they're squeezed together, out over the back of the chair.

[short pause]

Ensign: From Spock  
Do be careful, my dear. I would not wish you to lose your balance.

Spock: From Ensign  
Don't worry. I'm pretty balanced this way. Plus, I can play with my nipples and rub my thighs together at the same time. Hmm, that gives me an idea.

Ensign: From Spock  
Do not feel you need to continue updating me on your status. I am confident that all is well on your end. Of this communication.

Spock: From Ensign  
I feel I should inform you that I've inserted a foreign object into my body.

Ensign: From Spock  
You sound fairly unconcerned about the situation.

[long pause]

Ensign: From Spock  
Which body cavity, and what type of object, please?

Spock: From Ensign  
Shouldn't you be paying attention to the committee reports?

Ensign: From Spock  
I can always read the minutes at another time. Please update me on your status.

Spock: From Ensign  
Payback's a bitch, isn't it?

[short pause]  
Ensign: From Spock  
I beg your pardon?

Spock: From Ensign  
I never did get you back for that first time in the decon chamber. When you got yourself off in the shower and made me watch.

Ensign: From Spock  
There is no need for "payback"; in fact, my actions at that time were in retaliation for your tardiness in setting our next date.

Spock: From Ensign  
I don't think your response was appropriate to the infraction.

[short pause]

Ensign: From Spock  
And this response is?

Spock: From Ensign  
So anyway, I don't believe you're familiar with the object I've placed in a very private spot. It's about the size of my thumb.

[short pause]

Spock: From Ensign  
It would fit in any one of three orifices. Mine, or yours.

[short pause]

Ensign: From Spock  
Have mercy, please. I must give my committee report now.

Spock: From Ensign  
I don't think so, Commander. You made me watch while you lathered up your luscious body and wrapped your hand around your hard cock and looked me in the eye while you jacked off and I was behind a glass wall. If these lines are appearing in between your report paragraphs, that's too bad. The object is called a "plug" or a "butt plug". It can be inserted in the vagina or the anus and left there for several hours, during which that area of the body can be stimulated either by the object's presence alone, or by the vibrating mechanism inside it.

[short pause]

Spock: From Ensign  
I'm just giving you time to catch up, in between your reports. Ready?

[short pause]

Spock: From Ensign  
I'm in position on the chair again. Have you guessed yet where I put the object in?

[short pause]

Spock: From Ensign  
I'll give you a hint: I had to use lube.

[short pause]

Ensign: From Spock  
I'm gratified that you're not injuring yourself. I would switch this padd off entirely were it not for the very important information I'm receiving from the other attendees.

Spock: From Ensign  
Not as important as the fact that I just turned on the vibrator function. Holy shit.

Ensign: From Spock  
I trust that is a positive exclamation.

Spock: From Ensign  
You have got to try this, baby.

[short pause]

Ensign: From Spock  
Are you all right?

Spock: From Ensign  
I am sooooo all right. I have two fingers in my vagina and ...the vibrator in my ass and it feels....like you're fucking me both ways at once. Oh God. I have to sit down...

Ensign: From Spock  
I will try the device soon, my love. Perhaps the next time I'm licking your clitoris and you're sucking my _lok_...perhaps I will slip the vibrator into your backside...

Spock: From Ensign  
Spock, Spock!

Ensign: From Spock  
Or perhaps the next time I take you anally...I will push it between your labia, or even inside you...

Spock: From Ensign  
Spock, you sonofa... [indistinguishable sound]

Ensign: From Spock  
Do try not to alarm our hall neighbors, love. I'm sure you are making too much noise. In fact, I can hear you from here.

Spock: From Ensign  
Nnnnnnngh....what the fuck.... where... are you...

[short pause; next transcriptions vary in clarity]

Right here, _ashayam_. I've been outside the door for five minutes. Let me help you with that.

Ahhhh, fuck, baby...

That is my intention, _wuh-lan_.

*


	40. Spock of the Sahara, part I

This is a collaborative story.

This chapter is written by **ejectingthecore**.

Neither of us owns anything Star Trek.

**

* * *

**

**40. Spock of the Sahara, part I  
**

* * *

We're hanging out in our quarters on one of the enjoyable nights we're both off duty. My beautiful Commander is reclining partway on the couch, his legs stretched out before him. I'm lying with my head on his abdomen—a tight fit on the couch, but a delicious one.

For once we're not attacking each other. We each have a padd, and we're lying here, each reading, though at times my mind does wander, and not only to sex. Mostly I wonder at this relationship and how we're so perfectly suited to one another, how comfortable I am with Spock, even while he still moves me and thrills me. I'm finally realizing how much I give to him. I used to be simply awed that he gave anything at all to me. I smile at myself. I was so silly and amazed when we'd first gotten together. It took me so long to realize we are equal. Even longer than it took to realize we were in love.

These thoughts are a lot more interesting than a technical manual, but I apply myself to reading. If I have to work, lying in my Vulcan's arms is the best place to do it. Every once in a while, his free hand drifts to my hair and rests there, not moving, just holding. I look up and find he is gazing intently down my shirt. Ah, yes. No matter how much access I grant him, he's still fascinated that I don't wear a bra.

Men. Of all species.

He touches my hair again and speaks.

"_K'diwa_." Ah, his most beloved and serious way of addressing me. Not the playful name, _wuh-lan_, that comes with his wry or dangerously sexy moods.

I turn to awkwardly look up at him, but he runs his fingers through my hair and gently puts my head back down to let me rest on him.

"Shore leave approaches," he tells me, as if I don't know. The _Enterprise_ crew is due to take leave on Earth, a rare chance, and the whole ship is buzzing with plans and excitement. Nearly the whole ship. Spock and I have been so far unaffected by the news. Until now.

"I have agreed to accompany the Captain and the Doctor on an ill-advised journey on Earth. My participation will meet their need to solidify our friendship, which, as illogical as it may be, is already obvious."

His disdain for the exercise is clear, but so is his love for those two fools.

"It's okay with me. I have lots I can do while enjoying some alone time. Go for it."

He sighs. "I'm afraid that is an apt Human expression."

He's so annoyed and yet so happy to oblige his friends, I just have to tease him. "Where is this so-called journey going to take place?"

"We will be going to Earth's Sahara desert."

I laugh out loud and nearly fall off the couch.

"The desert!"

"Please believe me, I had a similar immediate reaction to this plan. However, they think it will be 'fun' to undergo a shared ritual journey."

It would be nice to have some alone time, but it would also be really, really good to have him in bed for a few days with no one to report to but each other. I wonder if he'll be gone for the entire duration of shore leave, and he seems to sense my question. It happens a lot, and it's not clear whether we're simply in tune with one another or whether he actually, literally does sense my question.

"I suspect we will be gone for three days at the most. Dr. McCoy generally only lasts that long."

I imagine my friend from engineering having a similar conversation with Bones and laughing just as hard at the image of the three of them. I still can't stop chuckling. "Oh man, you guys in the desert. Do you think they can take it?"

"No doubt they cannot. Perhaps when they are sick of the discomfort and begin complaining, I can remind them I underwent a journey of this type alone as a child. And that I did so without provisions, knives, animals, or a guide."

I playfully smack him. "Bad Spock."

I can almost feel his eyebrow rise.

I go back to reading, and after a quiet minute Spock adds, "When I am through with this 'vacation' with Jim and the Doctor, there is somewhere I would like to go with you."

I'm listening and not listening, staring at words on the small screen, thinking about a child Spock, so cute, and contemplating his beautiful, impossibly long legs that stretch out before my eyes. "Hmmm?"

"I would like to take you to Vulcan."

My ears perk up. Visiting his home is a serious proposition. Then he makes the offer even scarier.

"I would like you to see my home. And meet my family."

I just about freeze. I'm not sure I can deal with meeting his formidable family.

When his parents traveled on _Enterprise_, I didn't know Spock yet, not in any close personal way. I saw only brief glimpses of his exterior, and the whole time they were on the ship, he employed complete control. From the few times I saw him in the corridors that week, twice maybe, I thought he might snap. Sure he was Vulcan, and he strove for logic in all things, but I had never seen the first officer so rigid. You'd think he didn't know his parents at all, he was nearly cold to them when I saw them all visit engineering during one of my shifts. I imagine what their arrival on _Enterprise_ must have been like. I imagine him not touching them, barely looking at them, and think how his mother must have longed to hug him. At the moment, I hold him tight myself, loving his warmth and closeness.

"Your family." I breathe the words, and they bring up memories, and feelings I keep far below the surface. He knows my family is gone. My parents were killed when I was a child, during a lawless raid on the colony where we lived. I was really young. I did not have any parents to mention, let alone pretend coldness and aloofness toward.

"_K'diwa_, please know…" Spock says. "I have strong feelings for my family. I love my mother deeply."

"I'm sorry. I know you must." I speak the truth, because I know his beautiful and generous heart.

"And you shall love her, too."

"I'm afraid of her already." I joke, but it's true.

His rumble of almost-laughter makes me smile.

"When you meet her, you will see how illogical your 'fear' is."

His mother. On Vulcan. Oh boy.

"So she's not going to join you for tea in Luxor?"

He chuckles. "My mother is a Human living on Vulcan, little one. I can hardly imagine a place she would have less interest in visiting."

I turn over so I'm lying almost on top of him and I can see his beautiful face. "You know what it does to me when you call me that."

He teases me. "Call you what?"

"I can tease you, too, lover."

"You would not dare."

That makes me laugh in earnest, and I grab all of him I can get my hands on and roll us off the couch, crashing onto the carpet together. His understated shock is adorable. I kiss him deeply, and his lips are soft and broad and they feel perfectly matched to mine. He rolls me over on the floor so he's positioned over me, and he just looks at me and the desire and mischief in his eyes is too much to take. I push my hips up into him and he groans and runs one of his hands up inside my shirt. His eyes lose focus as he becomes overtaken by desire, and I know I have only a couple more lucid seconds to beg him. "Don't rip it, lover, I like this shirt."

He laughs and dives into a kiss on my throat, another lower down, getting closer and closer to my breasts. His tongue is fantastic, so skilled, and he adores me with it, while he presses the rest of the length of his body into mine. When he arrives at my breasts, instead of ripping my shirt off, he kisses me through the fabric, takes a nipple gently in his teeth, and the cloth between his mouth and my skin drives me crazy.

Somehow, in the glowing heat of our make-out session, we figure out a way to get my clothes off intact. And as his come off, I just look and wonder at how beautiful he is. I reach for his hard penis and it's so strong and hot, I'm moved by his body and touched by his emotions. He sighs as my hand moves, then he begins to push into it, but I shake my head. I roll him onto his back and kiss and adore and lick him from his chest to his penis, then take him into my mouth. When he slides into me, I moan with pleasure and the vibration makes him harder, and we resonate with one another and I love him with my mouth and my whole being.

*


	41. Spock of the Sahara, part II

Disclaimers in previous chapters.

This is a collaborative story.

This chapter was written by both of us.

* * *

**Chapter 41. Spock of the Sahara, part II**

* * *

So here I am on the ship, hanging out while he's gone, not at loose ends exactly, but without my usual gang of friends to hang with. Most have gone down on leave; those that are left can talk about nothing but their plans or their bad luck in not getting leave this time.

With nothing to share, I've already gotten caught up on my work. I've been unaccountably out of sorts, with Spock for taking off with his homies, with my buddies for taking off with each other, with all of them for leaving me behind. Completely unfair, but hey, that's how I feel.

For three nights I've slept alone and discovered how much I miss his comfortable body in my bed. It shows just how addicted I've become. And for three nights I've imagined him lying there beside me, pictured him turning to me, hungry, in the dark. In my fantasies, his eyes are on fire, his body tastes sweet and familiar, and I take him into my mouth, my sex, anywhere I can. I've thought about the first time we were together, in a parked shuttle what seems like a thousand years ago. I've thought about him dark and wet under a hot shower, holding himself and teasing me. I've thought about him…oh…a hundred ways? In reality, my hands have moved under the sheets, bringing myself to climax, imagining my Commander.

It's felt good, sure, but it's not the same.

I've entered our quarters dozens of times and each time felt the quiet acutely, not in a pleasant way. I've read a lot and missed someone to talk to about it.

What a mope.

Finally, last night I kicked myself out of my doldrums. I figured I ought to get a life. So I went over to the lab and got Riley to teach me how to play 3-D chess. He beat my ass several times, but I consider it fine conditioning for when I'll eventually get beaten by Spock.

Tonight we play some more, several matches in fact, since I'm getting better and my competitive nature is coming to the fore. We play until really late. It's later than I've been up in ages, especially without a Vulcan involved, and when I get home I slip immediately into bed and sigh into the emptiness of his pillow. I'm in a state of half sleep, my eyes closed, mind slowly drifting from chess, to warm, soft sheets, to Spock.

_K'diwa._

I'm surprised by his voice in my head, accompanied by a sudden vision of…nothing…an impenetrable haze. It's what he's experiencing, somewhere, right now. I feel emotion flowing through me, concern, regret...annoyance. I am so sleepy, I hardly realize the import of these images reaching me. They make me even more tired, exhaustion coming from both of us, me in bed and Spock, where is he? Our exhaustion mingles, and I begin to slip into sleep. As my consciousness falls away, I idly wonder what it's all about.

I awaken to a call from Starfleet. I receive it in our quarters; it's someone from HQ Admin, Lt. Commander Hayden.

After she's verified my identity she says, "I'll get right to the point, Ensign. We have no reason to believe that Commander Spock is not alive. But his two companions have turned up in a bad state, in an unexpected location, without him, and they don't know where he is. You're listed in his records to be notified in case of emergency; I'd like you to come to HQ tomorrow, if you can, and meet with us regarding the situation."

"Spock is…_lost_?"

I'm more incredulous than worried, but her face softens and she says, "Please, Ensign, we do not know that the Commander is injured or in danger. At this point, he is simply missing."

Spock is lost. It is at once the most absurd, impossible, and terrifying thing I've ever heard. It would take a lot, a hell of a lot, for such a man to lose his way.

I mentally shake myself and try to gather information.

"The Captain and Doc? Are they okay?"

"They'll be all right. They were caught in a sandstorm in the Sahara and got separated." A storm. The haze in my vision...it was sand.

She names a time and place and I agree to come.

Damn desert. Spock was right.

*


	42. Spock of the Sahara, part III

This is a collaborative story. Neither of us owns anything Star Trek.

**

* * *

**

**42. Spock of the Sahara, part III  
**

* * *

_K'diwa_. I call for him. _Lover_.

I call him with my mind, but it doesn't work that way. It apparently works naturally, in times of great stress, which is…not right now. Not as I sit in the waiting room at Starfleet HQ to talk to a woman who is going to tell me my man is still missing. _This should count as a time of great stress, Spock._ I chide him mentally, just in case he can hear me, but my heart is not in it.

I wonder if the silence in my mind means he's all right, that he's not under duress, or whether he's simply gone. I recoil from the latter thought. I'm not prone to worrying, I don't much get scared, but my heart is fluttering when the door opens and Lt. Commander Hayden invites me in.

She's not much taller than me, but she carries herself like an Amazon. She gestures for me to sit on the couch rather than in one of the regulation uncomfortable chairs. She sits in a soft armchair across from me and regards me curiously. I've seen this sort of look before.

"I'm not what you expected," I say with a smile.

It amuses me to think about what people must picture as "Spock's girl." Someone severe? With a steel rod up her back? Spock and I both know I'm tough as nails, smart, even brave. But at first glance I'm a petite, young blonde who doesn't wear a bra.

"I should know by now," she admits ruefully, "that where Commander Spock is concerned, I should expect the unexpected." Her smile is genuine and she has great practice keeping it up, but my Vulcan has trained me in detecting the slightest twinges of emotion, and her happy face falters. "We have no new information on his condition or whereabouts, but as his partner you should know that we're making every effort to track him down."

My heart flip-flops, and not in a good way. Now I know why this room looks so homey and comfortable.

"This is the bad news room, isn't it," I say flatly, and she looks startled.

"What do you mean?"

"This is where you bring families to tell them their loved ones have been killed or captured, or that they're missing, or that they won't recover from whatever injury they have. I thought this place looked a little too casual for a high-level Starfleet administrator." I get up and walk to the window, hearing her footsteps as she comes to stand beside me.

"I've given you the only news I have," she says quietly. "You seem like a no-nonsense person, a straight shooter. The plain truth is that the three of them were supposed to be traveling from an oasis in the middle of the Sahara to Luxor, riding camels and camping in the desert. According to Kirk and McCoy, they diverged from their planned route to visit an archaeological site, spent the night there, and in the morning set off. They were out of sight of any landmarks when a sandstorm came up."

I recall the haze, the sand, and Spock's feelings. They were promising in that he wasn't really afraid. Mostly annoyed. I smile inwardly, imagining him cursing Jim and Bones, but the amusement is brief.

The comm sounds and a voice says, "Captain Kirk and Dr. McCoy to see you, ma'am."

"Send 'em in," says Hayden, and simultaneously the door slides open and the two men come in, stopping suddenly when they see me.

"Ensign," says the captain with a nod and a frown.

"Hi darlin'." McCoy comes over and takes my hand. He looks exhausted and his skin is abraded and sunburned, but his blue eyes still twinkle.

"Pardon me for asking," Kirk goes on, addressing Hayden, "but what's the reason for the Ensign being here?"

I feel a jolt of annoyance unbecoming an officer toward her captain. Is he completely clueless?

Hayden speaks up. "Captain, this young lady is listed in Commander Spock's record as his domestic partner which, as you know, holds the same status as a spouse in most of the Federation. As such, she's entitled to be in on any discussion about his status, rescue, or possible demise."

She's a straight shooter, too; I appreciate that no end. Kirk blinks and recovers his manners; he must have assumed we were just shacking up. A logical assumption. I cut him a little slack and go over to sit back down on the couch. He, McCoy, and Hayden find places to perch and he fills us in on the gory details.

"When we saw the storm coming we followed the instructions we'd been given, jumped down, got the camels to lie down, hunkered down in their shelter. The damn storm was about to hit when my camel decided to find another spot to hide and it got up and started to run off."

"Ornery critters," Doc mutters.

"Well, mine was carrying the GPS and comm equipment, so I knew I couldn't let it get too far," the captain continues. "I went after it, almost caught up, tried to grab its lead rope or tail or something and it kicked out at me and kept running."

"That was when I caught up with him and dragged him back to where my camel was behaving itself," Bones puts in dryly. "And the storm hit and damn, it just went on and on. I think it was close to nightfall when it died down a bit and when we could see again, Spock was nowhere in sight. Although his camel was still there."

"We tried getting him on our personal communicators with no luck," Kirk says. "We managed to connect with an Egyptian comm source, get somebody to rendezvous with us and get us out of there. But there were no tracks for us to follow, the GPS on the runaway camel wasn't responding - it was like Spock and the animal had both vanished off the sensor grid."

He gets up abruptly and stands at the window, arms folded. I can tell this is killing him. Spock is his best friend, has been since long before I met either of them. I go over to him and stand looking up at him.

"We'll find him," I say, with more confidence than I feel. "He's tough to kill. You know that, don't you, sir."

Kirk returns my gaze with an odd expression.

"You're right," he says finally. He turns to Hayden. "Planetary sensors haven't turned up anything?"

"No, but they're notoriously thwarted by phenomena like lightning or sand storms, especially in such a vast area," she tells him. "And with the heat rising from the desert, infrared instruments won't pick up a single life form."

"What about ground scans?"

"They're in progress, but it'll take time."

"What the hell was he thinking?" McCoy grumbles.

I turn to the captain again. "Sir, I'd like to request leave, to go to Luxor in case there's any way I can help."

"Request denied," he says immediately, but as I open my mouth to object he heads me off, saying, "We'll all go, you, me, and Bones. This isn't shore leave--this is a rescue mission now."

*


	43. Spock of the Sahara, part IV

This is a collaborative story.

Neither of us owns anything Star Trek.

This chapter was written by **ejectingthecore**.

**

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**

**43. Spock of the Sahara, part IV  
**

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The most luxurious hotel on Earth is wasted on me.

Sometimes I can see through the constant, mid-level haze of worry, and the pull of some other emotion I can't really name. In those moments, I can joke with Len about how I'm blind as a Pyrithian bat to the Winter Palace. Its ornate interiors, lush trees, blue pools, views of its historic gardens, the Nile. But our joking is stilted and fake.

I suppose even these thick white sheets are beautiful. I lie on them now, blankets half on the floor, staring.

A week ago I heard Spock.

Like before, I was almost asleep when his mind called mine. As if my eyes were his, I saw before me an expanse of sand that offered no clues as to location. I saw and could feel the relentless sun.

The annoyance was still there, and I could only laugh a bit at my man, stuck in a life-threatening environment and merely annoyed, probably at his companions, including the camels. Total Spock. But then the link went deeper and I realized the annoyance was a front. I felt his physical pain, mild but alarming that a man such as Spock felt it. His determination and worry. I experienced his troubling thirst.

I knew his current thought, and realized he was reminding himself—or perhaps showing me that he was in good hands? _A critical factor in desert survival is achieving a sustainable balance among physical exertion, air temperature, and water consumption._

Then I heard him actually call me. _Little One. _The words brought a comforting calm. I tried to respond, but I got no indication he heard me.

And I haven't heard from him again. That was six days after he left home on this stupid trip. It's day 13 now. Another week.

Lying on this posh bed, I finally identify my strong, unknown emotion. It never happens, and I don't know what to do with the feeling, but I'm scared.

I talk myself down. I imagine his simple presence in our home, his voice. I try to comfort myself with the memory of its deep timbre. I picture his eyes, searching and wicked and sly. I can almost feel his skin under the palm of my hand, and how hot he always is. He's from a desert planet. He's hot, and he knows what to do. He's survived this before, and he was an inexperienced child then. Why is this knowledge not helping me?

The bed holds me up, I think it through for the millionth time, and the results of my analysis get no better. Spock can go far longer than I can without food. But even he can survive for only a couple days, maybe three, without water. Unless he's found a water source…well…my mind stumbles over the idea.

He's dead.

The thought's been nudging at me, but suddenly here it is. Here in this cold and unfamiliar bed, it's huge. It takes me by the throat, and I realize it's true. It's why I haven't heard him again in so long. He's dead, and he's really not coming back.

I feel sick, and I run for the bathroom where I cough and retch and nothing comes, and I squat down and rest my head awkwardly on the sink and cry. I haven't really cried yet, and now I go at it like a baby. And finally I stop, my face and mind exhausted. I slip to the floor and lie there and think, simply and childishly, I want him. I want him back now.

After my abduction, we were surprised by our intimacy. I knew I wanted him, even knew I loved him, but oh God, not this much. During that ordeal, he was the one alone on the ship, wondering, hoping and yet losing hope, powerless. He showed me how that felt. But now I really know, in my bones, and I can't believe I've been living with him and still not understanding.

I climb up from the floor and look at myself in the mirror, and I'm amazed at myself. I always thought I was brave, a tough cookie. People have seen me survive harsh things, and they know I'm hard to kill. But I realize that in this very moment of terror, I'm probably the bravest I've ever been.

We're going to find him.

He's tough, brilliant, and mine, and I don't plan to live without him.

*


	44. Spock of the Sahara, part V

This is a collaborative story.

Neither of us owns anything Star Trek.

This chapter was written by **TalesFromTheSpockSide**.

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**43. Spock of the Sahara, part V  
**

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The camel was found two days ago, thin (for a camel) and footsore. It walked into Kharga, whence it had come, lay down in the street, and refused to move until it was offered food and water. Its saddle and lead rope were battered but intact; the saddlebags with the GPS and other supplies were gone. Unfortunately, we could not interview a camel, and though scouts were sent out in the direction from which it had arrived, no traces of other life were found.

I begin to think Spock has been eaten up by the desert. He's been gone for two weeks, and I have to convince myself every morning that he might still be alive. It gets more difficult every day to believe myself.

I'm not taking my presence for granted; I know the captain could ship me right back to Enterprise if he wants, or if I get in the way. So I keep busy, helping with ground scans (the endless dust in the machinery problem), acting as liaison between the Starfleet personnel and the Egyptian Union people as well as those conducting the search, keeping my ears open and my mouth shut.

I'm taking five in the lounge off the conference room that is HQ for the search, zoning out in an armchair, when a woman's voice finally gets my attention. It sounds like she's said my name a few times and has become impatient. I practically leap out of my chair and face her, expecting a senior officer.

She's anything but military. This lady is about my height, with silver-white hair swept up and back, bright birdlike eyes, and a wry mouth that looks like it's done a lot of smiling over the years. She wears a light blue gown like a sari. She says my name again, this time with a tolerant, motherly tone, and adds, "Am I right?"

"Yes, ma'am," I say. I feel as though I should curtsy.

"My name is Amanda Grayson," she says and holds out her hand. "I'm Spock's mother."

Of course she is. I remember that smile now, from the only holo he has in his quarters, and I shake her hand.

"I'm very pleased to meet you," I say gratefully. "How are you doing with all this?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing. Shall we have some tea in the cafe? Sarek knows where to find me if they get any news."

I follow her discreet gesture to see a tall, black-haired man among the officers and scouts, his back to us as they confer over a geographical display. Sarek of Vulcan, Ambassador to Earth, Spock's father. What a way to meet the parents, I think, bemused, as I follow Amanda to a table in the hotel cafe. We order tea and when it comes, Amanda sighs deeply and says, "So how _are_ you doing, my dear?"

"I'm all right," I tell her, suddenly bashful. "I have faith in his survival skills."

"So do I," she replies. "Do you know about the _kahs-wan _ritual on Vulcan?"

"He's referred to it," I say. "It's a survival challenge for children, isn't it? A rite of passage?"

She nods. "The child is left on Vulcan's Forge, to make its way back to Shi'Kahr alone, or to die in the attempt. That's what this place reminds me of, although frankly the Sahara is more hospitable."

"I can only imagine," I say. "Obviously Spock survived his _kahs-wan_."

"Against all predictions," Amanda says. "Spock is perfectly capable of taking care of himself -- although over time he's become used to seeing to the survival of his comrades. He has a tendency to neglect himself in the process. I hope he hasn't done something foolish, like trying to catch the runaway camel and getting buried in a sand dune."

She could be talking about the ten-year-old she's been remembering. I smile.

"Has Spock -- What has Spock told you -- about us?"

"Not much. You know how close he is about his personal life. Even I have to pry information out of him sometimes." She sips her tea. "It's like a game we play. 'I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Mother.'" We both laugh at her dead-on Spock imitation. "Anyhow, he said the two of you met while running a shuttle diagnostic."

"Yeah, our paths kept crossing," I say. In most unusual, pleasant, and carnal ways, but I'm not about to give his mother any details. "And one thing led to another. A starship is a small world sometimes."

"I understand the two of you are living together now."

"For a couple of months now." I try not to sound defensive and she must sense it, because she laughs again.

"Don't worry, dear, I'm not that kind of mother. Good grief, he's a grown man, he can do what he likes in the privacy of his own home. As long as he's taking good care of you."

"Me?" I never think of myself as needing care.

In response to my expression, she adds, "Vulcan men can be even more oblivious than human men toward their women. Vulcan women don't seem to have much difficulty with that, but you and I -- we're a different story."

Her use of the word "we" makes me feel a little better.

"Can I ask you something -- personal? About Vulcan men and human women?"

"Certainly, my dear." She truly is an ambassador's wife. I could ask her what size panties she wears and she'd probably respond with grace and good humor.

"Spock and I -- we seem to be able to -- hear each other, occasionally. It's not consistent or predictable and not always clear. Sometimes, just emotions."

Amanda nods. "Go on."

"Well, what I'm asking is, do you know what this means? How did it get there, and why can't we control it?"

"I don't know how it got there," she says slowly, thinking. "Sarek and I could sense each other's emotions before we were formally bonded. He and I were linked by a meld we performed, to see whether we could be bonded in the Vulcan way. But we were in constant contact emotionally, except for those times when one of us would deliberately dampen the connection."

"So you think we might have formed some kind of bond?"

"It sounds like it. Why do you ask?"

I've been thinking about it like a scientific inquiry. Now the personal aspect crashes in on me and I swallow hard. Amanda reaches over and takes my hand.

"It's okay to be scared," she says gently. I nod. After a minute I get my breath under control.

"I haven't sensed him at all in over a week," I tell her, "But when we're apart for any length of time -- or when one of us is in trouble or stress -- "

"And you think that you're not sensing him because he might be dead." Her tone reminds me that I'm not the only woman worried about Spock. It's the sound of a mother holding it together for the sake of her own sanity. I just nod again.

Just then, her husband comes into the cafe and sits down at our table, greeting me with a nod and his wife with a touch of his hand.

"What news?" says Amanda.

"They began at the Kharga Oasis and were to make their way approximately 193 kilometers across the desert, to Luxor," says Sarek. "They left their intended route several times to explore, but always returned to the original trail. They were on one of these side trips when the sandstorm came up."

Again I can see Amanda pull herself together, and I do the same.

"Their intent was to 'get away from it all'," Sarek says dryly. "I believe they exceeded their expectations."

I can see where Spock inherited his gift for understatement.

"The search drones have covered only one third of the region between here and Kharga," Sarek continues. "They have found no sign of Spock, although there are indications that nomads have inhabited the area recently."

"Has anyone been able to find -- " Amanda begins, but her husband anticipates her.

"All avenues are being explored, _adun'a_," he says, but his eyes are kind. "Believe me, if I thought I could contribute personally to the search, I would be deep in the desert by now."

*


	45. Spock of the Sahara, part VI

This is a collaborative story.

Neither of us owns anything Star Trek.

This chapter was written by **TalesFromTheSpockSide**.

**

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**44. Spock of the Sahara, part VI  
**

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One night a knock sounds on my door. It's late, but I don't sleep that much anyway, so my light is still on and I'm reading. I open the door to find my friendly neighborhood doctor and invite him in.

"Saw your light on, thought I'd come check on you," he says, dropping into an armchair. "What are you up to at this hour?"

"Studying," I tell him, indicating the materials spread out on the table and the bed. "I want to take the test for promotion."

"You don't say!" He sounds like a proud uncle and I exchange grins with him.

"I haven't passed yet," I caution him. "Don't count your chickens."

"You will pass, though," he says. "So far as I've known you, you've succeeded at anything you really put your mind to. Including taming that pointy-eared, stubborn, green-blooded..."

"You're pulling out all the epithets today, Doc," I say mildly. "Feeling crankier than usual?"

"It's just - not knowing. It's driving me nuts. I know it isn't fair of me to say that to you - "

"If you need to say it, it's fair," I break in again. "I'm glad I'm not the only nut around here. I mean, I know you and the captain are worried too."

"Yeah, but we have years of worrying about Spock under our belts," McCoy points out. "You've only just begun."

I laugh. Only Doc could make a comparison like that.

"Seriously though, Doc," I say to him, "it's a big desert, but we'll get through all of it at some point. The search drones have moved further away, but there's still a chance he ended up in another region. Maybe a caravan picked him up. Maybe he's - hurt and unable to tell anyone who he is." There, I said it out loud.

McCoy's blue eyes are sizing me up. "What about that bond you-all have? Can you - sense him at all?"

"No." I get up and walk to look out the window. "That's the worst of it. It's not like we can communicate consistently even at the best of times, and I haven't felt anything from him in weeks. It's like - like there's no one at the other end."

The doctor gets up and comes over to put his arms around me and I lean my head on him, watering his tunic a little with my tears.

"He's out there," he mutters. "He has to be. I wish I knew enough about crazy Vulcan mind melds to know why you're not hearing him, but that hobgoblin is coming back or I'll know the reason why."

I laugh a little. "Illogical human optimism, Doctor," I tease him. "What would Commander Spock say?"

"He'd say that sometimes the most logical action must be an emotional one," says McCoy. "Don't tell his father he said that, though; he'd never believe it."

"Under similar circumstances?"

"Yep. That was the same day I heard him actually say out loud, 'I may have been mistaken.' Quite an occasion. Oh, and he saved the lives of the shuttle crew that day, too." *

"An average day in the life."

I look out at the stars, the field of black and silver that we should all be sailing through now, and hear McCoy mutter again, "He's out there."

* * *

_* "The Galileo Seven", Star Trek, season 1_


	46. Spock of the Sahara, part VII

This is a collaborative story.

Neither of us owns anything Star Trek.

This chapter was written by **TalesFromTheSpockSide**.

**

* * *

**

**46. Spock of the Sahara, part VII  
**

* * *

A week later, between the electrical storms, sandstorms, one torrential downpour, and technical difficulties, we still haven't found him. It's late afternoon, and the city is starting to stir after its daily siesta. The captain is on the comm in the sitting room of the suite he and McCoy share, talking to Starfleet brass. They seem to be getting testy about the amount of time Enterprise has been in dock with multiple little fiddly repairs.

"I don't care if I have to stay here for a year!" roars James T. Kirk. "I'm not leaving until we find Spock, either alive or dead. You can court martial my ass if you want."

I can't believe it. He's risking the loss of his command for Spock. McCoy stares at his friend, back at me, then drops heavily into a chair as the captain cuts the transmission and storms out of the room.

McCoy sits there for a bit in a brown study. Then he stirs, says, "Think I'll go down to the bar," rises and wanders out.

Left alone, I go over to the window and gaze out over the hazy expanse of desert. My mind is empty. To wait, or to move on. No, I can't even think of moving on. Going back to the ship, without Spock? The chance that I might never see that tall dark figure haunting my world again makes my heart pound with something like fear. I can't make a decision, not now. I'll take one moment at a time, as it comes. Just as I have for the last three weeks.

I take a calming breath and go down and out of the hotel, walking westward, toward that enigmatic sea of sand. The sun is sinking and I've forgotten my hat; my eyes are nearly closed against the heat and glare and stirring dust. I don't care.

I walk until I reach the end of the street, near the broad walkway that leads down to the ferry landing. I've been to see the ruins on the West Bank; I can see many of the giant memorials from right here. My eyes wander over the terrain as though my random visual reconnaissance will suddenly spot him in a crowd.

There's a group of tourists disembarking at the ferry landing; they look sweaty and sandy but happy. Must have been out visiting the ruins, I think. The group straggles up the walk, chattering, and as they draw closer I notice someone who has stayed behind, to talk with the ferryman, who eventually laughs and makes a gesture of farewell. The last man turns and begins to climb the slight incline to the walkway.

He's tall, wrapped in something canvas-colored, a walking stick in his hand, his head protected from the sun by a traditional patterned cloth called a khaffiyeh, sandals on his feet. A small bag is slung over his back. He looks like an Egyptian, one of the nomadic people, but there's something about his walk...

The blood roars in my ears and I find I'm breathing heavily, my eyes still fixed on that figure. If I'd have been sitting, I would have leaped to my feet. The man glances up from watching his step, and his eyes meet mine over the fabric he's drawn across his mouth and nose for protection against wind and sand and sun. He pauses, staring. Then his hand comes up, in an oddly familiar gesture, and he pulls the cloth down off his face, revealing an unkempt beard, and lifts his chin. I don't need the raised eyebrow to confirm what my eyes are telling me.

"Spock," I whisper.

_K'diwa._

I hear his voice, strong and deep in my mind. He begins to walk toward me, and I sway as a burst of his experience comes at me, giving away the mess that's behind that strong façade. Sand, fear, thirst, resolve. Loneliness. _Worry_. For _me_. He makes it all stop, like a spasm of radio traffic has gone into the ether. He resumes walking as calmly as if he'd just seen me an hour ago. And then I see myself, through his eyes, as he approaches me. As he gazes on me, I realize there were moments when he thought he might never see me again. He finds me so beautiful.

When he stands before me I finally break free of my immobility and reach for him as he drops his stick, and our arms clamp around each other in a perfect fit, his dusty face pressed against mine as I burrow into his neck and cry.

He says my name, over and over, in a hoarse voice as he holds me and I try to catch my breath. When I draw back and look at him he drags his dry fingers down my cheek, wiping my tears.

"Little one," he says. "You waited."

"Of course I did," I say fiercely. "I love you. You are khatn'd'lawa, half of my heart and soul." And I don't care about the beard or the dirt or who might be watching; I throw my arms around his neck again and find his mouth, and he drinks of me as though I were a fountain in a howling wilderness.

When we come up for air I say breathlessly, "I guess we should go tell everyone you're back."

Spock gives me his little lip-quirk and replies, "Can they not wait a little longer?"

"Your parents are here," I tell him, almost reluctantly because I know what he'll do. His eyes lift to gaze over my head, toward the line of hotels, and he murmurs, "I'm afraid my mother outranks even you in my heart, Ensign. However, we will have a different kind of reunion later, after I have reported and bathed - and shaved - "

"You don't have to shave just yet," I grin as he and I turn to walk toward the Winter Palace. "I'd like to enjoy the beard at least once or twice. After you've washed, that is."

"I do reek of camel," he admits. "And various other substances one encounters while living in a desert environment. I notice that the scent did not prevent you from expressing your affection."

"My passion for you is stronger than any stench you can come up with," I say. "I work in Engineering, remember? The stinkiest department on the ship."

I get an actual smile that time.

When we walk up to the steps of the hotel, the concierge stares, not at me, but at the filthy efreet* by my side who enters the lobby as though he belongs there. Spock turns to the poor guy and says urbanely, "I apologize for my appearance, sir. I have been lost in the desert for three weeks, and the environment here does take its toll on one's wardrobe and hygiene."

I stifle a laugh and add, "This gentleman will be staying with me."

The man nods speechlessly. We walk on, toward the conference room that has been serving as command post for the search. As we approach, Amanda and Sarek emerge in conversation with the Starfleet liaison officer. Spock wordlessly hands me his bag and stick and pulls the khaffiyeh off his head; his black hair is dusty brown and tangled, but he still looks dignified as he walks up to his parents.

Amanda is the first to see him and her reaction is nearly the same as mine. She freezes for a moment, then cries out, "Spock!" and flies to embrace him, his long arms in the robe enfolding her almost completely. Sarek stands by, to all appearances unmoved, but I know what to look for on the Vulcan face. The relief in his is poignant. Spock turns to his father and bows slightly as Amanda relaxes her hold on him.

"Spock," his father says, raising his hand in the Vulcan salute. "It is a great pleasure to see you well."

"Thank you, Father," says his son. By now the dozen other people involved in our mission have come out to see what Amanda's cry had been about, and Spock is surrounded by a cacophony of searchers, official and volunteer. I can't see Kirk or McCoy anywhere and suddenly recall where the doc had been headed when last I saw him. I stash Spock's meager luggage in the conference room and make a beeline for the bar.

The room is dim, having no windows and minimal lighting, but it's nearly sundown and there are a few patrons already. I spot a familiar pair of heads at the long bar; it looks like the captain joined up with the doc at some point. I wind my way between tables and go right up to grab McCoy by the arm.

"Doc," I say, and he turns, takes one look at my face and bolts from the room, Kirk on his heels. I follow just in time to see Spock turn to greet them; he grasps the captain's hand as Kirk slaps him on the shoulder, as close to a hug as he would ever offer his Vulcan friend. McCoy bounces on his toes, grinning like a cat.

My insides are buzzing with joy. Outwardly I maintain a controlled demeanor, but Amanda isn't fooled any more than Spock. She comes to give me a hug and we both laugh when we see the tears in each other's eyes.

"No matter what face they put on," she says in a conspiratorial tone, "our men are just as relieved as we are. They pretend to indulge us, but I think Sarek sometimes experiences emotions vicariously through me."

I nod. She and I have grown pretty close over the last couple of weeks.

"You'll want some time alone," Amanda continues. "As always, there's Starfleet protocol to be satisfied. I'll try to be sure they don't keep him too long. You should make sure he eats something, though."

"Yes, _ko-mekh_," I grin.

*

* the Arabic word "efreet" means demon


	47. Feral

This is a collaborative story.

Neither of us owns anything Star Trek.

This chapter was written by **TalesFromTheSpockSide**.

**

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**

**47. Feral  
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I went upstairs and had a good cry. I felt like tension had been the only thing holding me together recently, and when my sobs died down I felt purged and cleansed. I ran a hot bath and soaked for a bit and felt absolutely boneless. When my fingertips began to resemble a dried date I finally dragged myself out of the water and pulled the plug.

I heard the door to my room open and a soft voice said, "_Ashayam_, it is I."

I didn't know whether it was wonderful or pathetic, the emotions the sound of his voice stirred in me. I wrapped a towel around myself and went out of the lav to greet him; he was still clad in the robe and was kicking off his sandals once the door shut.

"You are a vision," he told me. "I am afraid I am not worthy to touch you in my current state."

"No problem," I said and turned immediately to re-enter the lav. I took a seat on the wicker chair provided and watched as he came in and began to emerge from his clothing. His skin was darker in places, from exposure to the sun, but not as burned as the other two had been; the advantage of coming from a desert planet, I guessed. He had lost weight, on a frame that had already been lean. I started guiltily.

"Your mother said to make sure you ate something," I said and he smiled faintly.

"My mother has seen to that already. Some tasks she trusts to no one but herself."

"So that's what took you so long." I tried not to sound petulant. His smile deepened.

"Forgive me, _t'sai_, but I didn't waste a moment away from you. I ate a light meal while debriefing the search team, then excused myself on the grounds that I was fatigued and filthy." He removed his shorts and threw them into the disposal unit along with the robe. "I do not believe, however, that Jim or Dr. McCoy were deceived in the least by my excuse."

"I should hope not," I grinned.

Spock turned on the shower and stepped into the tub. "Is there anything like a scrub brush?" he asked me. "It may take some work to get this much of the Sahara off my hide."

I handed him a loofah and sat back to enjoy the view. It didn't disturb him; he proceeded to scour himself with soap and hot water, rinsing a few times until the water ran clear and his hair was finally clean. For a man as fastidious as a cat, I thought, he had tolerated his grubbiness admirably. I would have showed up, announced my presence and locked myself in the bathroom.

Spock caught my eye as he turned off the water and said, "I appreciate your forbearance, _k'diwa_. I know you were longing to join me."

"I enjoyed watching," I said. "Besides, showering together is - sexy. Actually cleaning off days of dirt - not so much."

He sighed as he stepped out of the tub and pulled a towel off the rod.

"Here, let me," I said and took it from him; he stood passively as I rubbed him with the towel, his eyes closed as though in relief - or exhaustion. As I ended up in front of him I kissed him lightly and said, "If you're too tired - "

Before I knew it my towel had been yanked off my body and thrown on the floor along with his towel, and I was hoisted over his shoulder, carried into the bedroom and dumped unceremoniously on the bed, giggling.

"I guess - " I began to say but was preempted by a familiar growl.

"No more talking," said the tall, dark, hairy, very clean man who was obviously about to devour me limb by limb. His mouth took mine hard and deeply, bruising my lips and forcing my jaw wide open, the better to invade me completely. I would have moaned if I'd been able to breathe, but I didn't care about air supply just then.

He was still latched on to my mouth as his hands began to move, all over my body, as if remembering my form, sliding swiftly over my skin without pausing to tease or caress. It felt like five men were touching me all at once and I let my body respond, stretching and shifting and writhing to let his hands get where they wanted to go. My arms lay loosely around him and he guided my limbs in order to reach everywhere. Finally his palms came to rest on my spine as we lay on our sides, his lips soft now on mine, my hands stroking his shaggy hair. The beard had passed the prickly-stubble phase and was silky against my face; I rubbed my face over it when the kiss ended and felt his almost-smile.

"So you find my feral appearance alluring," he murmured and I squirmed closer, to rub the length of my body against his, and whispered, "What do you think, _s'haile_?"***

"I think you are playing with fire," was the reply.

What followed was not so much intercourse as conquest. Spock's hands and mouth were demanding; he stimulated my breasts beyond endurance, until I wailed at him, then held me down and played with my clit with his fingers while murmuring salacious words in my ear. He knelt over me and gave his cock to my mouth - but not all of it; he teased my tongue and lips with the head and pushed my hands away when I tried to take hold of it.

Chucking wickedly, he slid his long body down over me and positioned the tip of his organ just inside my entrance, supreme control in evidence as he nudged in and out, just a little. Every time I tried to thrust up he dodged back, until I cursed at him and he grinned, white teeth shining amidst his black beard. I was pinned, at his mercy, on fire, and really ticked off.

"I learned many things during my desert ordeal," he panted. "How to find water... how to discipline an unruly camel...until it ran away again..."

"You better not be comparing me to a dromedary!" I growled and he laughed.

"From the men of the desert who found me, I learned some of the language."

"Travelogue later," I gasped. "Orgasm now. Please."

"One word in particular."

The sound that escaped me was loud and long, but not a word. I dug my nails into his neck, hard, and he leaned close and licked my ear and said, "_Neik_."**

And ahhhh, finally, we did.

* * *

*_efreet/afrit_ = Arabic for demon  
** _neik_ = Arabic for "fuck" .?term=neik  
***my lord


	48. Home

This is a collaborative story.

Neither of us owns anything Star Trek.

This chapter was written by both of us, **ejectingthecore** and **TalesFromTheSpockSide**.

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**48. Home  
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I wake with a start and a split second of doubt, but I quickly become aware of Spock's very solid, very real body next to me. I rest my head on his chest and breathe in his now-camel-free, familiar scent. He's cool to the touch and his beard is scratchy and intoxicating. I turn slightly toward him and take a minute to savor how his skin feels against mine, along the whole length of my body. I'm like a cat rubbing up against him.

But I feel his bones, and it's like they might break through his skin. He didn't have much fat to lose in the first place, and now he's truly gaunt. Knowing him, I'm going to have to go on a campaign to fatten him up when we get home. I keep close to him, and think that when home comes to mind, I can picture our little, tidy cabin on the ship. But really I could be happy anywhere. I like being folded up in his embrace. I like to be _little one_.

My thoughts surprise me. They're overly romantic and sound an awful lot like the inklings of a wife. I've gotten good at taking care of myself over the years. I like being tough, able. I'm not a sappy girlie-girl, and I don't need a strong man to protect me. I'm not someone who falls in love and gets married and makes sure my husband eats enough. That was for my parents, and a whole lotta good it did them, and me. A surprising amount of bitterness wells up when I think about them dying.

My head is getting really muddled when I should be overjoyed that Spock is alive.

His hand rests on my hip, so softly in sleep. His hands are beautiful, and even worn and savaged by the sand and filth of weeks in the desert they look elegant. What those hands do to me. As I think about them I feel his fingers tighten just the slightest amount against my skin.

It's kind of astounding to think about where we started. I lusted after the XO, even let it slip in conversation with a friend, and found myself fucking in a shuttle. There's no other word for that delicious thing we did that first day. Now I'm lying here contemplating being his wife.

I feel him begin to stir, and I realize the sensation is not only physical. I don't just notice him beginning to move or breathing differently. I actually feel his stirring inside my head, as his mind wakes up and moves toward consciousness. He is so tired, a state he has never, since I've known him, admitted to. I automatically send a thought to him. _Rest, lover. Don't wake up._ And I feel him relax and agree.

No matter what I thought I signed up for or even wanted, this is more.

It's good, but also overwhelming enough that I feel like getting up and wandering while he sleeps. I let him know with a thought, in a way that seems weirdly natural to me, that I'll return. Then I grab some of the cool, linen clothing that's hanging in the closet and slip out.

It's not even 24 hours since Spock's return, but we are already scheduled to beam up to Enterprise later in the day, despite Amanda's wish that she could spend some more time with her son. I sit on the hotel veranda, just looking into the distance and trying to imagine what it's going to be like to see the bulkheads and ugly carpeting of the Enterprise again. It'll be nice to resume a normal routine back on board, to go to work and get grease on my hands, eat good old synthesized food, and feel Spock's casual kiss on the top of my head when he comes home from work. We could really use some boredom.

"May I join you?"

A deep voice interrupts my reverie.

Sarek of Vulcan awaits my word, and I say, "Of course, sir," and watch as he sits in a chair next to me, arranging his usual robes comfortably around him. He folds his hands and looks at me as at an insect under a magnifier. I half expect him to say, "Fascinating."

I return his gaze longer than humanly possible - I've had practice at staring down Vulcans, but little success - and he nods as if I have spoken.

"Spock speaks very highly of you, Ensign," says Sarek. "Not only of your service, but of your friendship. I am glad he has found such a friend."

"He has many friends," I say, not knowing what I mean. "I'm glad to be one of them."

"Indeed he does. However, I gather from conversation with Spock, and with my wife, that there is more than friendship between you."

"Yes," I say, and I don't lower my eyes, even though I'm half expecting him to read me the riot act on my audacity in loving his son.

Instead, those dark, knowing eyes remain serene as he goes on.

"You may know that my son and I did not speak as family for many years," he says and I nod. "This is the result when two intransigent beings let their opinions rule their paths. It's possible that Spock was right, and I wrong, but that no longer matters."

"I understand," I say. "The human aphorism would be 'water under the bridge'."

His lips twitch, in humor or annoyance; I can't read him anywhere near as well as I can his son. "Such colorful metaphor," he says dryly. "There is another metaphor, one which appears in the Standard Christian Bible: 'Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.'"

I remain still, waiting, and he nods again, this time in approval.

"If I may employ such an illogical metaphor," he tells me, "I would say that you, Ensign, are my son's treasure, the place where his heart rests. I have observed your tenacity, your courage, your insight, and I am convinced that he and you would enjoy a strong bond, if such a decision comes into question."

I must look astonished. Sarek's lips twitch again, and this time the amusement shows.

"I cannot read your thoughts," he tells me. "But I know my son. The emotions I felt when I came to love my wife, he feels when he looks at you. He has not said so, but it is true. He is ready for you."

I think I'm ready for him. And apparently it's been crystal clear to everyone but me. I figure this may be the closest Sarek comes to giving his blessing to me, here on this verandah in the middle of the heat and sand, and I am grateful. It's important.

He stands gracefully and salutes me in the Vulcan way.

"Live long and prosper, Ensign."

"Peace and long life," I say, in Vulcan. His eyes twinkle once more, and I watch him turn and walk away. He glides, somewhat like Spock does. I find myself instantly comparing them, thinking about Spock as an older man. I wonder if this is what his gorgeous voice will sound like in twenty years, getting just a bit raspy with age.

Suddenly, I want to hear Spock's voice in person. I need to confirm that he's really here. I stand and stride toward the bank of lifts, and all I know is that I need to find him and it suddenly seems possible that I've been dreaming, and I may get back to our room and find it empty, find that he's still lost. I pick up my pace. It's silly. This whole experience has really turned me upside down. But no matter how illogical it is, my heart pounds, and I end up running the last few meters.

Of course, Spock is still there, packing a small bag. He's in uniform, his hair trimmed and beard gone, posture upright, totally prepared to return to the ship. I wonder if he will act different with me now, less playful than he did last night. But when he turns to me, his eyes are so alive, they twinkle just like his dad's. I'm about to tell him how everything is so clear, when I hear him, not with my ears but right inside my head.

_Ah, k'diwa, it is time to go home._


	49. Haunting

This is a collaborative story.

Neither of us owns anything Star Trek. We made up the Ensign.

This chapter was written by **ejectingthecore**.

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**49. Haunting**

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This time when I wake it's at home, in our quarters, under sheets and covers that smell like Spock, like his clean skin and delicious body. It's dark in the room, not lit on our morning setting, so I figure it's still very early. I rest with my eyes closed and savor his scent. I stretch and feel good in our bed.

Yesterday, walking to our quarters when we first beamed up, I could feel the thrum of the engines underfoot. Even in a ship this big, an engineer can sense the rhythm. I can tell when something's wrong in the engine room from five decks away. And yesterday, nothing was wrong. The ship felt absolutely right.

I've heard people say, after they've been through an experience like ours, "It's like he was never gone." I don't feel that way. I feel acutely that he was gone, and I'm not sure I'll ever look at him the same way again. But whether it's stupid or not, right now I feel safe.

I'm musing over all this when I open my eyes, and I'm startled by Spock. The bedroom is dim, and he's standing beside the bed, framed by light from the other room. He's an imposing figure in any situation, but from my vantage point looking up at him, he's positively haunting. His dark hair shines and his features are wrapped in shadows and more alien. He's nude. And not only that, he's hard. So hard it seems painful. His erection juts out from his body, and a drop of moisture glistens on the head of his penis.

He's been looking at me and just waiting. It's one of the things I've had to get used to-that he's often awake while I'm sleeping and spends countless hours looking at me while I'm completely out.

But this time is different, so eerie and erotic. I wonder how long he's been aroused, and why he hasn't touched himself or wakened me to help him out.

His eyes are dilated and his lips are wet. It reminds me of the way he looked at me those first few times we were together, when he would find me, anywhere in the ship. It was usually when I was working. He'd pretend to inspect my repairs or assist me with something, but in his eyes I could always see this same hungry look, right before I felt his hands pry at my clothing.

I smile.

He whispers, in that raw voice of his, "Hands and knees, Ensign."

He hasn't commanded me like that in so long. It knocks me incoherent. I struggle up to my hands and knees, facing him, and I look up to his face. He places two fingers against my lips, and my mouth opens at his touch.

He slides his hand up my cheek and guides my head as though he's going to enter my mouth, but then he stops and places a hand against my forehead, holding me back. I reach for him with my tongue, but he holds me still.

"When we first met, we agreed to conduct an experiment," he says. "A study of interspecies sexual encounters."

As if I could forget that day. I vividly remember the shuttle, and the flush I felt all through my body when I first heard his dark voice and realized he was there with me. Just feeling his presence at such close range had driven me to distraction. We had never spoken before, and I was intimidated by him. By his rank, his posture, his expression. Then to find that he wanted us to touch. I recall the dawning realization that he had followed me there.

He said then what he says to me now.

"Tell me."

My eyes drift shut and I whisper, "You wanted to taste me."

"Yes"

"Intimately."

"Yes," His thumb caresses my temple, but he keeps his hand on my forehead and does not let me get any closer "Even then, I knew how exquisite you would taste."

This makes me groan and press my forehead into his hand. I'm aching for him now, and shifting forward and back on my knees.

"And what do you want now, Ensign?"

"I want to taste you, Sir."

His cock is shining in front of me. He still hasn't touched it, and as I tell him this, more fluid leaks from its head. I can't help but lick my lips like an animal.

Finally, I recall the way we played with each other's pleasure that day. and I add. "Vocalization," My own voice is hoarse with desire. "When I take you, I want to hear how it feels."

This is what he's waiting for. He lets go of my head and I slowly move forward to take him in my mouth.

He vocalizes, alright. He tries to keep it in, but as he slides past my lips and into my mouth he begins to groan, and it gets louder and fuller and he can't stop. He lets me know just how it feels.

I get up for the day and lazily wander out into our tiny living room, savoring how satiated I feel after Spock repaid my favor. Tasting him, and feeling him taste me, brings back very good, very hot memories.

It's my day off in engineering, and I plan to drift in my Spock-induced state of bliss for a little while before putting my head down to study. The test administered when an ensign wants to become a lieutenant is hard, so hard that some of the fleet's brightest have had to take it more than once. Not Spock, of course, who wrote the book on the test. Just now, as I think this, I realize maybe he did, and it makes me smile.

My smile turns into a confused mix of emotions when I find Spock, dressed for work without a wrinkle on him, standing in the living room gazing at a tapestry on the wall. His hands are folded behind his back, in his classic Spock way. He is so quiet, I had no idea he was still home.

"Ensign," he says, then turns to face me. He's not being playful. He's calling me by my rank.

He's being very Vulcan right now, so I respond in kind. "Yes, Commander."

"I am leaving for my shift on the bridge."

"Yes, okay." I haven't ever requested that he tell me his whereabouts, and we've never been the kind of couple to keep tabs on each other or worry about when we go to work or come home. It's weird. "I'll see you tonight."

He nods once, his beautiful hair shining as it catches the light. I want to reach out and touch it before he goes, but he is already halfway out the door. It swishes shut behind him.

I shrug it off, and take out my study materials. I have a good four hours to focus before I meet up with Doc's girlfriend for lunch.


	50. Lesser Beings

This is a collaborative story.

Neither of us owns anything Star Trek. We made up the Ensign.

This chapter was written by **ejectingthecore**.

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**50. Lesser Beings  
**

* * *

There are lulls between missions, and long trips with nothing to do. People joke about the old saw, that space travel consists of months of dull void punctuated by moments of sheer terror. These are the days when the crew take up hobbies. Or in my case, study for tests. I've been doing a lot of that, and I'm almost ready to take the plunge.

People get antsy and invent games. And these days in the quiet void, the powers that be have been mingling with the junior officers out of a shared sense of boredom. Spock is big on chess and plays a lot with the Captain, but he has been known to play ridiculous drinking games. He says he's observing human nature. I think he's mostly amusing himself with the antics of lesser beings.

Those antics got him in some delicious trouble once before, and as we walk down the corridor to tonight's game night in the rec hall, I recall the rounds of "I Never" we played what seems like a hundred years ago. I'm flooded with warm memories of our first times in a real bed. After so many encounters in shuttles, turbolifts and access tubes, those nights between his sheets were luxurious. So many hours to look at and simply touch his body. To revel in how he laughs, deep and low in his chest, and pretends he doesn't. To watch his eyes-almost more devastating than his hands and mouth.

My mind is wandering when he grasps me by the arm and pulls me toward a supply closet. I look up at him, questioning, and his face is blank. Not just Vulcan. Entirely blank.

He opens the door and pushes me into the dark. Then his hands are all over me, pulling at the neckline of my dress and reaching up under my skirt all at once. His face is buried in my neck, his lips and tongue working on me, the hint of his teeth against my throat. He growls, not seductively, but like an animal. He lifts me up onto a shelf and something goes crashing to the floor. Before I can speak, he's inside me. I'm not ready, and it hurts at first, but he makes me wet in seconds. As he thrusts, my back scrapes against the wall. It's so fast and hard, I don't know what to think.

I look inside myself for some kind of clue. I've gotten used to a little bit of his consciousness in here with mine. But right now, I don't feel anything from his mind. Just his body. It's hot and rough in the dark. His fingers are long. They wrap around my upper arm, where his grip is sure to leave bruises. He's driven in a way I haven't felt in a long time, a way that scares me in its similarity to the hell of _pon farr_. And it occurs to me, as we fuck in the dark, that he's not just a really strong man. He's another species.

But I have to laugh at myself. There's nothing wrong with what we're doing here. It' just unexpected. It's _Spock's_ body, for goodness sake, not a stranger's. I know every angle and bone and shadow of it, and if he wants to press it against mine in a supply cabinet who am I to argue? Soon I'm biting his uniform to keep from crying out in pleasure, and my arms are around his back, my hands under his shirt. His skin is smooth and cool. I drop a hand to his waist and feel his heartbeat, and it seems normal there. He's not really alien to me. It was a moment of strangeness in the dark, nothing more.

With a final thrust into me, he actually seems to snarl. I've always thought of him as a panther, and that image comes back to me full force with the sound he makes when he comes inside me. It takes me over the edge, too, and I end up panting and clutching him.

A little later, we emerge from the supply closet. Despite how dumb this must look, Spock handles it with grace. He steps smoothly into the corridor and turns to help me out, then resumes walking with his hands behind his back. His face is neutral. You would never know he could fuck like that. Would never be able to tell that he _just did_. I, on the other hand, am an open book and probably look pretty damn smug and disheveled right now.

We arrive a bit late to game night.

An hour later, we're observing a truth or dare type game. Though he's got a real aptitude for lies of omission, Spock balks when asked a direct question that he doesn't want to answer. It's charming, I think, but it makes this kind of game a pretty bad idea. A few of the junior officers are willing to let us watch without chiming in.

The game is getting pretty intimate, with most of us sitting in a tight group around two low couches. I'm sitting on the floor, and leaning against one of Spock's long legs. A cute brunette Lieutenant, sitting beside me, is watching us. I've gotten used to lots of people glancing at us, and some even ogling when he and I touch. But this woman's gaze is unsettling, and I can't place why.

I realize I'm tracing a circle on his boot with my finger. I guess I'm feeling especially close to him after our encounter, and forgot that he's comfortable with closeness but nothing nearly this personal. Normally he would have shifted by now, gracefully removed his foot, reminded me to regain my composure. It seems strange that I notice before he does. Maybe I'm just getting used to being a Vulcan's woman.

I get up to refill my drink, and offer to get more cocktails for a couple of the players.

On my way back, halfway across the room with drinks in both hands, I stop short. I can't believe what I'm seeing-the incredible image of Spock stretched out on the couch, leaning on one elbow. He has a drink in his other hand. He's placed his long, lean body perfectly and has never looked so statuesque. He's practically on display, and suddenly anyone around can see what I see in him. He's emanating sex. I'm stunned, but I really am looking at Spock reclining like this in front of other people, so open, so relaxed, and more than that. Seductive.

Obviously it's possible. He seduced me like a phaser cutting through butter. But it just seems almost unimaginable that he's acting this way in a group.

The young officer who was watching us is now leaning in to speak to him. She's damn close, and it makes the hair stand up on the back of my neck. I don't like how he's looking at her. His eyes are smoldering, he's got her captivated. I see this all in a second or two. And then I see something really wrong, that I wish were my imagination.

He leans forward to place his drink on the low table. As he leans back, almost as an afterthought, he brushes the girl's cheek with the back of his hand. It's a light brush. I know from experience that it's the kind of touch you can barely feel, and yet never recover from.

Every bit of warmth and air has been sucked out of me and I'm hollow. The word _wrong_ keeps ringing in my head like a klaxon. And just like it's a red alert, I don't run. I calmly place my drinks on the closest table, turn neatly around and start walking home. I don't know what I'm going to do when I get there. I don't even know where to begin to think about this. I suppose at some point he'll come home, too. He'd better. And it better be tonight.

These thoughts are haunting me on the way to our quarters, and by the time I arrive I'm shaking. I start a hot shower and step in under the water, and I'm briefly confused because my body wash is not where I normally put it. I'm forgetting something. I replaced it. I'm so disoriented, I could easily be in someone else's room. I gasp under the hot water, and try to ignore it when the gasps become more like sobs. I'm not crying.

Once I'm clean and dry, I wrap a big robe around me and burrow into the covers on our bed. My head feels stuffed up and wrong, and I'm suddenly sleepy. I can't seem to stay angry or scared or even awake. As I drift off, I feel a wisp of emotion from Spock, something like sadness and remorse. Then I'm gone.

* * *

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	51. Variables

This is a collaborative story.

Neither of us owns anything Star Trek. We made up the Ensign.

This chapter was written by **ejectingthecore**.

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**51. Variables  
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* * *

It's very early morning, and the light in our cabin is dim. Spock's side of the bed is untouched, but I know he's here. I can feel his presence close to me. It's not a sweeping emotion or vision of a scene or memory like our erratic bond sometimes creates. It's a simple fact.

I get up and pull on a t-shirt, some workout pants. I don't know why but I have this urge to be covered. I go to the living room, and I find him there dressed in his uniform, seated with his long legs stretched out, his elbows on the arms of our big chair and his fingers steepled. A serious and contemplative stance, one I've seen many times when he's considering grave matters or weighing variables.

I get a deep sinking feeling, like I'm a variable.

Without preamble he tells me, "It would be best for both of us if you were to move in with your colleague from Engineering." Spock doesn't look at me when he speaks. He looks both inward and into the distance, in a way that closes him off completely from me in all directions. "I have arranged for the second bunk in her quarters to be available."

I can't exactly understand what's happening. He's talking about Doc's girlfriend. He wants me to move somewhere. Leave our home.

I'm not weak or an overly emotional girl, but this is completely out of nowhere. I suddenly feel lost and small. Little one, I think, and Spock seems to react in some infinitesimal way. Despite his lack of expression, I get the impression he can hear my thoughts. I voice them out loud anyway.

"What is the logic behind this?"

He seems to be impressed by the question, because he tilts his head and considers it. He still doesn't look at me when he answers, though.

"You are occupied with your studies and focused on promotion. It is logical that I not impede your progress, nor keep you from independently reaching your goals."

He's talking about my goals? What about what we have lived through? _Pon farr_, my abduction, his experience in the desert, the terrifying and life-changing experiences that no other couple has faced. Even the simple difficulties of everyday life as a widely scrutinized and unlikely pair. What about every single day that we have enjoyed one another and held one another? Most recently, in a closet for Pete's sake. A promotion is important to me. It's something I've been planning and working toward for a while, and I do want to achieve it independently, without any interference or special help from Spock. But that can be done while we are a couple. All it will take is a little discipline. And it pales in comparison to the power of what we've been through and what we have together.

I recall the scenes he showed me when I was lost, the images and emotions he shared of how he searched for me with such agony and devotion. In the here and now, I see him blink. He _can _hear me, but he won't let on.

I want to ask him why. I want to be in another world, another conversation, where this isn't happening. And I'm also getting angry. What gives him the right to seduce me and then get me so involved with him, so deeply, asking me to live with him, mating with me, saving my life, just to dump me?

All that comes out of my mouth is, "Look at me when you say what you have to say."

He turns placidly toward me, and I think that in all the time I've known him, I've never seen such an utter lack of emotion in his eyes.

"I will dissolve our bond, Ensign. It will trouble you no more."

It takes a moment for me to stop staring at him. When I regain my wits enough, I don't wait to pack my things. I stumble out into the hall with nothing and make my way to my friend's quarters, with no idea what to think or do.

* * *

I'm not one for crying, but apparently my friend is.

When I made my way down from deck five to the lower crew quarters, I was grateful to find her home. I just told her, "Spock says I can find a place to stay here." She burst out crying and said, "Him too?" and then dragged me inside and told me all about how the doc has broken up with her out of nowhere. They'd been getting closer, and she was actually thinking it was something really important between them, when he suddenly said goodbye.

We're replaying her story now, one more time, but it doesn't bother me. Talking about her is taking the pressure off of me. I'm not sure what my feelings are, and I don't much want to talk about them. While she goes on about the last time she saw Leonard, my mind wanders to Spock. I imagine him continuing to sit in that same spot long after I left. Maybe he is still there now. I think of his stony face, and how I can find the emotion in its contours when no one else can. I try to get inside his head, not literally, but just to understand what he must be thinking. But no matter how I try, I just can't make sense of it.

She hands me a cup of tea, and I take it absently. I guess it's what people do at these times. Give tea and take it absently.

Later, I go back to our quarters to get my things. I don't want to, but there's no other choice. My clothes are going to smell like Spock, like our place together, some are mixed with his in the refresher, some of my less frequently worn shoes still have sand in them from the desert. But even though it will be painful, I don't want to give up and get new things. It's my stuff, damn it. I'm not going to be a baby.

I signal at the door, in case he is there. And he is.

"Ensign." His deep voice makes me weak, as it always has. I fight its gravity.

"Commander. I'm just here to pick up my things."

I feel like we're in a stupid holovid.

He directs me to the bedroom, where there is a case on the bed with all my clothes and a few personal effects in it, folded and ready to go. It's a real slap in the face. He hasn't only broken up with me. He's packed me up and already cleaned and replaced the sheets.

He lurks at the entry to the bedroom. "Anything more that I find in due course, I will have sent to you."

I can feel my face turn bright red with shame and anger. Just once, I almost lash out when I tell him, "That won't be necessary. You can discard anything else you find." And for an instant I feel a twinge of something, some emotion, but it's gone just as fast. I close the case, pick it up and walk past him to leave.

I feel his heat as I pass by him. So close to the body I know so well, I can't help but turn to him. Looking up at his face far above mine, he looks like a statue. There's no penetrating him now, no way at all, but I ask anyway. "Why are you really doing this?"

He tilts his head and pulls his brows together as if he doesn't even understand the question.

I reach for his cheek, where so recently a bushy beard had grown, where I have rested my hand a thousand times and tasted his skin with my lips just as many. I touch him there, where a dimple appears when he smiles. When I touch him, he hardly reacts. He doesn't even raise his hand to move mine away. As if even that amount of connection would be too much, he just turns away and evades me.

I leave as quickly as I can, then. No more point in sticking around to get kicked in the gut. I make it back to my colleague's quarters, though now I guess they're mine, too. I drop my bag on the floor and dim the lights, thinking I'll fall asleep as soon as possible. I don't want to wait another minute before getting unconscious and forgetting this for a while. I settle into my new bed. It's small. It feels almost tiny, like a toy. And I'm alone in it.

* * *

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NOT the end

...


	52. Playthings

This is a collaborative story.

Neither of us owns anything Star Trek. We made up the Ensign.

This chapter was written by **ejectingthecore**.

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**52. Playthings  
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The first few days are more than difficult. They're pretty much hell.

I ache whenever I see him, and when I don't see him, too, for that matter. I ache physically for him, wanting him like a schoolgirl whenever I see him moving so fluidly and with his almost sinister air. I recall the feeling of those incredible hips pressing into me, and I pine for his kiss. I imagine his mouth taking me, everywhere. The few times I see him I stare at his lips. We never get close enough to talk.

I ache for him emotionally, too, in way that I never would have thought possible. I'm too tough for this. This is vulnerable territory, not a place I ever go.

It had been a long time since I'd opened up to anyone. Actually, I've never really opened up so much. It took a man who was the definition of closed-off to make it possible for me to let down my guard. It took a whole lot of challenges, too, and I think about them at night when I cry myself to sleep. Because I have taken to crying in the dark, when no one but I can hear my labored breathing.

I think mostly about the first time I felt him in my mind, when I was alone in the woods after escaping from Samuels. I would have been terrified of such intimacy, if it weren't for the more immediate terror of death in the wilderness.

I think of the moment when I knew I was his entirely. I sat on a rock, huddled in a blanket and held by a nameless female crew member, while I watched Spock bring all his Vulcan strength to bear on Samuels' face. In that moment I knew that not only had I given in completely to my love for him, but that he too had given in to "us" and that he claimed me for his own. That he loved and cherished me, and would probably kill to save me if ever the need arose. I was awed by the power of that devotion, and scared shitless by being so connected, and so dependent on him. A small part of me, one I paid no mind to, feared a day would come when I would lose him.

Well, here it is now. I was right. Everyone leaves.

* * *

As the days go by, I can almost feel my heart hardening. I appreciate the numbness.

I go through the motions at work. I make adjustments, fix problems. But every once in a while, some passion sneaks up on me. I notice that I'm working on a console where Spock ravished me, or that I'm peering into the access tube where he tasted me, where I first tasted him. I run a diagnostic on the decon chamber where he teased me mercilessly with his hot, wet body.

I was a fool to allow those things to happen where I work. Now our history is everywhere.

And one day he is literally here, too.

He steps into engineering to confer with the Chief. Scott is showing him an experimental part that will theoretically increase the efficiency of the warp drive. I've been working on the project, and so the boss calls me over to answer some questions. At the mention of my name, Spock's head snaps up as though he's just realized I am here, and that he will have to speak with me. He seems almost scared. Fine. Fuck him. Let him be scared of me.

But when I get closer, I realize he's not scared. In fact, he looks...aroused. He looks like the Spock that only I know, the one who smirks and has those smoldering, come-hither eyes. I haven't seen that hungry look in a while, and it hurts. I'm wearing my skirt uniform, cut low in the front and high on the behind, and he has always had a real weakness for the view. But hell no, I'm not going to play games. I'm not going to be hot and flustered when he looks at me that way. He has no right to.

The Chief clears his throat. He's holding an experimental part and wearing his typical harried look. "So I was saying, Mister Spock, that the Ensign here has a better grip on why the thing is fused this way."

"The Ensign?"

Scott extends a hand as if to make room for me in the conversation.

"Hello." Spock says it like I'm lunch and he's starving. He looks me over, his eyes going straight for my cleavage. Then he looks at Scott and says, "What a lovely female."

Scott and I just stare at each other. The Chief looks so blown away, I'm tempted to reach over and close his mouth for him. I'm sure I look the same.

"Commander," I say, and realize I haven't uttered my pet name for him in so long, it's turned back into a rank. "Please limit your comments to the work."

He still has a hint of an awed smile when he asks as though I'm not there, "Who is she, Mr. Scott?"

Scott is flustered. "Mr. Spock, I'm sure that you are well acquainted with the lass."

"On the contrary. I don't know the Ensign."

Spock's almost-smile is alluring and sad and strange. Then he abruptly stops staring down my shirt and asks a technical question with the voice and manner of an android. He might as well have removed his brain and gone on auto pilot. I'm so stunned, I can barely get my wits about me to answer, and I can tell from his expression that Scott feels the same. It's too weird.

In fact, it's not just weird. It's actually wrong.

It dawns on me that this is all really wrong. _Everything_.

That's when I feel a massive jolt. It reverberates through the ship, followed by a long wailing of deck plating being stressed almost to the breaking point. I fall hard against Spock, and when our bodies touch it's electric. He catches me in his strong arms and I hate how I react with lust and appreciation. His smell is so familiar, so masculine and clean. I hate this, hate all this emotion and hate the touch of his beautiful fingers on my arms.

Then I feel the tingle of a transporter beam. When we rematerialize, we're looking into the eyes of a woman who seems wickedly pleased to see us.

"Mister Spock," she says, and raises an eyebrow. "It's delightful to see you again."

Spock is his usual unflappable self, and his expression is utterly flat. "Philana."

I've never seen anyone like her in my life. She's dressed in long robes bound around her waist, with sandals on her lovely, pale feet. Her hair's the color of mine but piled on her head in ringlets. Her name is familiar, though. I wrack my brain, searching for why I know it.

"And I see you've brought company."

She smirks at me, then smiles at Spock. And this is when I notice that we're not entirely dressed. That is, I have on a gauzy sort of shift that barely reaches to my thighs. It's very low cut in front and entirely translucent. My breasts would be visible for a kilometer around, if they weren't pressed firmly into Spock's nude chest. I pull myself away from him, but not before stealing a touch of his waistband, to see if he has a weapon I can pull. No such luck. In fact, he doesn't have much of a waistband in the usual sense. He's wearing something like a skirt that's slit up the sides and almost as short as mine. I take a second to admire his legs. But he has no phaser in sight. All I can do is step away and face this woman, whoever she is, whatever she is.

Spock lets go of me and stands at attention, his hands behind his back. I stand at attention by his side, and that's when I notice another detail. That we're not alone. Standing a couple meters away I see the doctor and the Captain, both dressed like Spock is, and a lovely woman with the markings of a Trill on her temples. I recall she's a visitor from Starfleet Medical. Emony. Emony Dax.

Philana takes us all in.

"It's so good to have a Vulcan back to visit," she says sweetly. "I grow so tired of the typical humanoid smut."

Then it hits me. Where I know her name from.

It's not good.


	53. Playthings, part II

This is a collaborative story.

Neither of us owns anything Star Trek. We made up the Ensign. This chapter refers to an Original Series episode called _Plato's Stepchildren_.

This chapter was written by **TalesFromTheSpockSide**.

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**53. Playthings, part II  
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* * *

Parmen is dead.

You'd think that would be good news, the way our people had been tormented by Philana's husband and his peers last time the Enterprise visited this planet. I wasn't on board then, but I've heard about it from Spock and from Dr. McCoy. Apparently someone got the better of the sadistic bastard in charge and managed to sink a knife into his gut. Unfortunately, the someone was his wife, who is if anything more sadistic than hubby was.

That's all I know, so far. At the moment I have more pressing issues—like how the Platonians managed to snatch us off the _Enterprise_, what they intend to do with us, and how long it might take to find or synthesize the chemical—kironide—that would give us the same psychokinetic power these ancient spoiled brats have.

The fact that we were transported here with barely a stitch of clothing and no equipment is not a major issue at the moment.

I'm sitting next to Leonard McCoy, who was in Sickbay when we were so rudely relocated; I'm guessing they picked him up, along with Kirk and Spock, because all three made a previous "visit" here. They probably picked Emony up because she was in sickbay with the doc, and me because I was in Spock's arms at the time. I sit on a padded bench at one side of the room, trying to look like I hang out virtually naked with the command crew every day of the week and twice on Sundays.

Fortunately, I have a sensational view. Spock seems oblivious to anyone's nudity, including his own, which is simultaneously a pleasure and an agony to me. My heart hurts when I look at him-and yet other parts of me leap for joy. _Stop it,_ I tell my hormones. _He's off limits now. Your Vulcan days are over._

Emony Dax is a lovely, tall, brunette, with a beautiful trail of spots from her forehead to her toes. She seems mildly amused by our predicament; she's sitting in a chair with her hands folded in her lap like she's at a tea party.

Kirk has just finished debriefing, so to speak, those of us who weren't here on the first visit to this planet.

Dax frowns. "You said that kironide was available in the plant life here," she says.

"It is, but without our equipment it's hard to produce a concentration of it that'll act quickly enough," McCoy explains. "As it is, we'd have to consume the local diet for about four months before we gained enough power to do anything."

"And we cannot combine our powers, once we have them," Spock adds thoughtfully. "Captain, I believe Starfleet issued orders to avoid this system without proper preparations. The fact that we were some distance from it when captured indicates that at least one of the Platonians has managed to increase his or her telekinetic powers in order to extend their reach."

"Yes," says Kirk. He sits down in a chair next to Dax, elbows on his knees, and you can tell his mind is racing through possibilities. "But why us? Why only the five of us? They seem to have figured out how to deprive us of the tools to create the chemical, but what could they want us for?"

"Entertainment," says McCoy grimly. "Remember last time? The kissing, the weapons? It's the only thrill they can get any more."

"Kissing?" I blurt.

"Guess someone forgot to mention that in his briefing," he says, shooting a look at Kirk.

"I was thinking of Uhura and Chapel's feelings," says the captain defensively. "Anyway, I guess we should be prepared for anything from gladiatorial fighting to an orgy."

Dax's eyes widen and I swear she looks like she's stifling a giggle. I wonder whether she's ever been to an orgy.

The door swings open, seemingly on its own, and a woman's voice commands, "To the atrium, slaves."

No one moves for a second, except for McCoy, who snorts and folds his arms stubbornly. Then we're all yanked to our feet by some unseen force and hauled unceremoniously into the next room. I've never felt anything like it, as though my brain is no longer calling the shots. It's disorienting and damned scary.

The room we troop into is a large open air hall with a gallery on one side. The gallery is only half full. The woman, Philana, sits front and center in her rich clothing and bored expression.

"We meet again, James," she says to the captain. He stands a step closer to her than the rest of us, and any hint of chagrin at his near nudity is completely gone; he is, as always, in command.

"You may address me as Captain," he says to the woman. "I hear you've moved up in your world, Philana. Such as it is."

"Parmen was an idiot," says the woman calmly. "One crack of the whip from you and he cowered. Times have changed, James, and so has the power among our people. We were not finished with you when you left us so precipitately."

"If you're going to try to force me to stay here again-" McCoy begins to say, but she waves a languid hand.

"Of course not," she says. "Anyone foolish enough to get sick or injured deserves to die."

"What do you want, then?" Spock asks. The woman comes down from her high chair and wanders toward our group; none of us can move, forced to allow her to walk among us, gazing over our bodies, giving Kirk a playful slap on the ass. Finally she stands before him, hands on hips.

"Vengeance," she says. "For humiliating us. Parmen is no great loss, but I will not have our people shrink in fear from the likes of you short-lived, powerless creatures. You will take word back to your Federation that we have the power now to pluck you from parsecs away."

"We'll do no such thing," says Dax firmly. "You underestimate us."

"I think not," says the blonde. "That was Parmen's error. You will be housed in separate rooms and called for when we want you. For now, we require only the presence of James and... this one, I think." She gestures to me and I'm jerked forward to stand beside the captain. The others are shoved out of the room and the doors slam shut behind them. Kirk and I are released from our psychic bondage and he comes over to lay a hand on my shoulder.

"Whatever happens, Ensign," he says quietly, "we're going to be all right. Try to stay in the moment."

"Yes, sir," I say briskly.

For the moment, we _are_ all right. The Platonians use the two of us like animated dolls, make us perform a twisted kind of ballet, contorting our bodies into positions barely short of breaking bones. But they do stop short, never breaking us. They continue to make us dance, until at once we come to a halt, and then they force us to undress. It doesn't take long, with what little we're wearing. The Captain casts aside his..skirt…and I'm faced with the sight of his entirely nude body. I repeat to myself that it's all in a day's work.

When they're through with our striptease and we're allowed to fall limply on the floor I'm sore all over. And after only a minute or two I'm hoisted to my feet again and a whip is pressed into my hand.

"Now, James Kirk," says the blonde. "We'll see how you do on the receiving end of humiliation."

"I don't know," says Kirk a bit breathlessly. "I think having to do the splits was humiliating enough."

I'd snicker if I weren't anticipating what was coming next. The captain is lifted onto his knees, facing the gallery, and I'm forced to walk around him flourishing the whip.

"I'm sorry, sir," I whisper, and I hear him say, "In the moment, Ensign."

The whip comes down, barely missing his ear.


	54. Playthings, part III

This is a collaborative story.

Neither of us owns anything Star Trek. We made up the Ensign. This chapter refers to an Original Series episode called _Plato's Stepchildren_.

This chapter was written by **TalesFromTheSpockSide**.

* * *

**54. Playthings, part III  
**

* * *

I lie on a couch in a tiny room, too weary and appalled to do anything. I wish I could sleep but my brain won't shut up. The doc said that the captain would be all right, although the only thing he currently has to treat him with are cold compresses and an aloe-like plant he found in one of the decorative pots.

"Hey."

The voice that addresses me is that of Emmony, who has sneaked into my room. She sits on the floor beside my couch and takes my hand.

"He's going to be okay. And it wasn't your fault."

"I know that in my head," I tell her. "It's my gut that isn't convinced of it."

"I know what you mean."

"What are they doing now?"

She knows who I mean. "It's dinnertime, apparently. Wonder if they're going to feed us - Leonard said the native foods contain kironide."

When "dinner" comes, it's sparse: bread, fruit, and wine, and not enough. Apparently the Platonians are going to let us bunk by gender; when I'm done I lie back down on the divan, and Emmony comes over to lie down behind me, curling into my back like a protective sister, and we sleep.

I dream of controlling Spock, making him move as I wish, as the Platonians do, and he grimaces in agony and does my bidding, but I can't think of anything that will appease my fury and grief. In the dream I let him fall to the floor, he gets up and walks away with the captain and they beam back to Enterprise, leaving me alone, not even the Platonians left on the planet.

The Platonians' freak show lasts two more days. I'm not privy to every act in the farce, and when I'm forced to participate I practice shutting down my mind and emotions. I stop short of wishing I had the support of the empathic bond Spock and I once shared. No good in that kind of thinking, I tell myself. Don't look back. Remember the proverbial pillar of salt.

Then, after a couple of exhausting, surreal days, I find myself in a situation that could only be described as...fascinating.

I suppose I should be angry, or anxious, or at least indignant. Instead, I'm kind of - amused. In fact, I can't seem to stop giggling. Maybe I'm becoming hysterical.

"This isn't helping," growls the man on whose lap I'm sitting. "Do you want them to think you're enjoying this?"

I clamp my lips shut, unable to speak without laughing, and when I finally do catch my breath I open my mouth to reply -

- only to have it captured, invaded, ravished by a warm, wet, expertly wielded tongue. A *human* tongue. The sensation is so different from my Vulcan that it startles me into responding, and I take this opportunity to exploit Leonard McCoy's osculatory talent, which is, as reported, considerable.

I can just picture Philana glaring around at her toadies, who don't dare cross her. You don't mess with a woman who's several hundred years old and seems to have spent most of it in a state of PMS.

"Are you controlling them?" asks one of the men. They've been arguing over the balance between control and psychological torment; eventually, Philana argues, the "subject" will obey orders out of fear alone, saving the controller the trouble of applying telekinetic force.

"I made it clear to them that they were to copulate for our amusement," says Philana. "At the first sign of resistance, I will torture one of the others. Then we'll see about obedience. Isn't that right, dear?"

My head is pulled back by some invisible force; I'm almost getting used to it by now.

"Yes, my lady," I say with a grimace. The mouth from which I was so rudely detached is frozen in mid-air, and its owner is blushing furiously at his ridiculous position. The moment my head is released I plunge back into his kiss, wrapping my arms around his neck and squirming against him.

"That's more like it," he murmurs when we break for air. His lips are soft on my ear and my neck and yes, that is indeed a fine specimen of manhood pressing against my thigh. I wish I were as aroused as he obviously is, but I think I'm experiencing stage fright.

Spock sits beside Philana, as naked as the rest of us, hands on his knees, forced to look on with a dozen other Platonians. None of us have allowed any hint of our friendships or relationships to show in our behavior, so she doesn't know about my past - liaison with Spock. She only knows that emotions make Vulcans uncomfortable, and she thinks the sight of humans in the throes of passion will unhinge him.

The irony is that a human lover, even an ex-lover, would be furious at being made to watch this. Stay in the moment, I tell myself, my current mantra, and I close my eyes and let Leonard play with me.

"Don't take this the wrong way," I whisper to the doc. "But I hate this."

"It's okay, honey," McCoy whispers in my ear under the pretense of nibbling it.

I know she can shut us up herself if we don't obey, so I shut up, but she's really pissed and I can feel my limbs being moved for me, Leonard sitting up straight with me on his lap, so that I'm facing the audience, his hands on my breasts and belly, my legs spread wide as I sprawl back against his chest.

"Really, Philana, you promised us something really salacious," says one of the Platonian men in a bored kind of drawl.

He seems about to stand up and leave. Philana turns angrily red and snaps, "That was merely an introduction." She turns to examine Spock, who returns her gaze, eyes steady, hands still on his knees, between which absolutely no hint of an erection can be seen.

"You seem undisturbed, Vulcan," she says to him. "Don't you find such displays distasteful?"

"Expressions of physical affection are common among humans, as are depictions of sexual acts in art and entertainment," Spock says calmly. "I have become accustomed to seeing them."

"So are you frequently a witness to such acts?" says the bored male, looking a bit more interested.

"I did not say that," Spock corrects him. "But if I were, they would have no effect on my emotional or physical state."

Bullshit, I think, and I hear McCoy's soft snort of disbelief. We're two of the few people on Enterprise who know Spock even has an emotional state.

"Very well, then," Philana says. "Let us test the limits of your control, Spock."

I'm suddenly pulled up and away from the doc; my own hand is forced into motion before I can blink, cracking across McCoy's face even as I give him a sympathetic glance. He gets a handful of my hair and yanks me into a hard, messy kiss, then flings me away so that I land back on all fours, head toward the gallery, held in place for the next trick.

My blood runs cold when I realize that the bare feet approaching me belong to Spock. I watch as he kneels before me, his jade green penis quiescent, dangling out of range of my mouth. If he weren't Vulcan I'd be insulted by its lack of reaction.

I'm getting even more aroused, damn my body, by the sight and scent of him. A very tiny twinge of regret that Spock is being subjected to this flickers through my heart and evaporates; I don't belong to him, nor he to me, so I might as well enjoy this while it lasts. Stay in the moment.

I strain my eyes to look up at him. He does not look at my face; he looks perfectly composed. I know that look; he's retreated as far into his mind as possible, distancing himself from emotion and physical sensation. It strikes me that this has been exactly his expression for the last several weeks, but I don't have time to consider the meaning of it.

"Come now, Spock, doesn't this stir you at all?" asks Philana in that disgustingly syrupy tone.

"How disappointing," Sybilus says dourly. "Can't we - "

"Boring," scoffs one of the men. "Plain vanilla. Come on, Sybilus, spice it up a bit."

"No one is to control the Vulcan," says Philana. "I wish to see whether Spock will rise to the occasion."

"I will not," Spock says.

"If you do not, she will be the one who suffers," Philana snaps. "There are fifteen men among us, many of whom would enjoy forcing your crewmate to perform for them. Or simply to provide, shall we say, a warm body?"

My blood runs cold.

"And when we're done with her," says Sybilus, "there are others in your party for us to use. By the gods, the more I think about it, the more I hope Spock will go on refusing..."

The Platonians laugh heartily. Under the noise I hear a low grinding noise and realize that it's my own teeth, clenching in fury.

"Let us test him first," says the head bitch. I'm allowed to sit back on my heels, hands resting on my hips, and my mouth is forced open in spite of myself. I can see Spock's face clearly now and wonder if he knows anything like the humiliation boiling inside me. His expression is more closed than I have ever seen it.

I breathe deeply and close my eyes. Stay in the moment. Stay in the moment. In the-

A familiar scent, the texture of hot skin sliding between my lips, and my eyes fly open again to verify that Spock has indeed leaned slightly forward and placed the head of his cock on my tongue. He isn't hard, and I wonder how far he's planning to go.

"Oh, he's decided to play along," says one of the men. "I'm disappointed."

My eyes flick up to Spock's face and his hand comes down to touch my face, then his fingers tighten in my hair and yank my mouth closer as his cock begins to swell. In that one moment, that one look, one touch, there's a faint echo of his voice in my head, saying, "_Ashayam..._"


	55. Playthings, part IV

This is a collaborative story.

Neither of us owns anything Star Trek. We made up the Ensign. This chapter refers to an Original Series episode called _Plato's Stepchildren_.

This chapter was written by **TalesFromTheSpockSide**.

* * *

**55. Playthings, part IV  
**

* * *

_Ashayam._

Still I refuse to believe that the word means anything, to me or to Spock. I just want this scene to be over, so I beat back the glimmer of hope that has leapt up in my heart and bring my focus back to the physical *now*.

I was kissing Leonard enthusiastically a few minutes ago - he's sitting cross-legged on the floor about three meters away, watching - and for Spock I will do no less. I curl my tongue, beckoning his shaft further in as he moves. His hand is twisting my hair, knuckles hot on the side of my face against my stretched cheek.

The Platonians are making remarks about Vulcan physiology and betting on the odds that I can get Spock's erect penis entirely in my mouth. Said physiology is swelling against my palate and the back of my tongue; I have very little gag reflex as a rule and my gulping now is mainly an attempt to keep from choking on the moisture building in my mouth.

"What's the matter, girl? Can't take it all?" Sybilus calls out, then says, probably to Philana, "Shall we force her further?"

"I have a better idea," I hear Philana reply. "I'm going to let Spock do it. And if you don't follow my commands, Vulcan, I will take it out of her hide."

Once more I sense a faint mental stirring, more urgent this time, as though Spock is trying to reach me through a fog.

_Do not fear, little one._

This time the spark of hope stays lit, even though Philana is releasing my body from her control and ordering Spock to get his entire length into my mouth. He takes my head between his hands and his long fingers creep closer to my meld points as he pumps.

_They have been...confusing me,_ he stutters in my mind. _I have not been myself._

I want to laugh. No shit, I think, and a tinge of regret and embarrassment flows toward me from his mind. So we _can_ still connect. I remind myself not to think too far ahead and concentrate on the head of his cock, panting through my nose. Maybe abstinence makes the memory grow fonder, but I can't recall him ever reaching _this_ size.

Spock pumps shallowly into my gullet, and I reach out to steady myself with my hands on his thighs as I kneel up on the floor. He seizes my wrists and growls low, holds my arms up and away from my sides; I shift frantically, spreading my legs a little more, balancing on my knees and the cock impaling my mouth. What the hell?

The bond that was so recently silenced is reawakening. Through his grip on my arms I sense that he's warning me not to enjoy him too much, as our captors are trying to torment us. I take the hint and flail a bit, make a desperate sound of protest through my full mouth. The Platonians laugh, of course.

"She needs something to steady her," says one of the women. "What shall we use? The doctor, perhaps?"

"No, no, I'm going to want him when Spock finishes with her," says Philana. "Human men don't recover as quickly as ours, and if he climaxes now we'll have to wait. I know - " She raises her voice and calls to Spock. "Take her over to the divan, Spock."

Spock pulls out of my mouth and I gasp in lungfuls of air; he grabs my arm, drags me over to the long divan, where I see McCoy has been placed, cross-legged at one end like a spectator. I am jerked over to land on the other end, for once uncontrolled by the Platonians, and I perch on the edge looking up at Spock, the first real look we've exchanged since we got here. Since that day in his quarters.

I want to stare, to take in every nuance of his expression, but I lower my eyes to the floor, trying to look miserable.

"What now, Philana? Shall we split her at both ends?" Sybilus leers.

"Pace yourself, Sybilus," says Philana shortly. "This is my demonstration. You'll have your turn soon enough." She looks at Spock, who stands with his hands loose at his sides, feet planted, body coiled for action, cock standing out at an angle like a weapon.

"Put her on her hands and knees, Spock," she orders. "Fuck her from behind. Not in her anus - I'm saving that for the good doctor."

I don't know whether to be pleased or appalled. I like anal sex, and from Doc's ex-girlfriend I've heard he's incredible at it, but at this rate I'm going to get passed around like a party favor. Spock is helping me into position with gentle hands; I know he'll be as careful as he can with me.

"Doctor, why don't you help her feel better about this," says Sybilus, who glances at Philana for approval. "Lie underneath and play with her breasts."

Doc unfolds his legs and pivots, lies down with his head upside down under my braced arms, his long legs dangling off the other end of the couch. His hands come up to cup my breasts, hefting them gently; we're sideways to the audience, so they can see what he's doing.

"Stay in the moment, honey," he whispers as his fingers start teasing my nipples. "We'll make it good for you."

Spock is rubbing his cock against my buttocks; I'm not wet enough yet and I think he can tell, so he's stalling a bit.

"Get on with it, Spock," says one of the Platonians.

I feel a large, warm hand slide up my spine, reaching to curl loosely around my neck as if to choke me, and the tip of his cock starts nudging my sex -

- and into my mind springs a thought, a vision of how this would look if we were lovers, and alone, a soft bed and wine and oil and broken murmurings, his hands roaming where they will, his mouth moist against my neck as he bends and thrusts -

- and it works. I feel a rush of circulation and moisture between my legs, not an orgasm but a sudden spike of lust. Spock pushes in slowly, pulls back, almost all the way out, one hand still on my neck, the other on my hip.

"Impressive," says one of the men. "I didn't think he could get any bigger."

I feel a ridiculous moment of pride in Spock and his endowment, bolstered by the delicious feeling of fullness as he undulates smoothly in and out of my body. I'm clenching my teeth again, this time to keep from moaning with pleasure and anticipation.

The doc is fondling my tits as they swing above him. I hunch my shoulders slightly and Spock takes the hint and pushes my torso down, shoving me into range of Leonard's mouth. This makes doc look busy, gives me a chance to hide my face against his broad chest, and allows Spock to thrust even more deeply. I'm going to get all the pleasure I can out of this, with these two, men I would trust with anything.

I know that Spock can hold back for a considerable length of time, and that we might be in it for the long haul, so to speak - and then a new voice speaks up, a Platonian man with a deep, booming voice.

"Getting a man to orgasm is simple," he says. "Bringing off a female, now that's not so easy. Bet the Vulcan has no idea how to go about it."

"More than any other man here, I'll bet," scoffs one of the women, and several of the spectators laugh, as if at a recurring joke.

"What about it, Spock? Are Vulcans as skilled lovers as we? What shall be the proof?" Philana turns to her cohorts.

If they only knew.

After some bickering among the Platonians, Spock is ordered to withdraw from me, I'm told to sit on the end of the divan, and the doc sits up behind me so that I lean back between his legs, into his arms and up against a firmly aroused human organ.

"Now," says Philana. "Keep playing with her breasts, Doctor. And keep her hands out of Spock's way. He's going to have to do this all himself."

Spock stands looking down at me, then turns to Philana and says evenly, "If I refuse?"

"If you refuse, it's your body that will be used, Spock, by every last one of us. You may be able to endure that physically, but I think your friends would be horrified. We would, of course, force them to watch."

Spock doesn't dignify this with a response, but turns and drops to his knees before me. His hands spread my legs gently, stroking down them as if in reassurance.

_Once more, little one,_ he says in my mind, _imagine how this will be when we are alone, when I have begged your forgiveness and you allow me to worship your body again..._

His mental tone is in no way presumptuous, but rather humble, the Spock I know and love, and I catch myself before my mouth smiles at him.

Then his black satin head dips to kiss my thighs, lick up between them, nuzzling and breathing me in; the doc keeps finding new ways to tease my breasts, nibbles on my ear for good measure.

The Platonians have fallen silent, whether from suspense or annoyance I don't care. My sex is breached by a long, supple tongue, sweeping my memory back to that first day in the shuttle, when he went down on me with more gusto and talent that I could have imagined. It's getting difficult for me to hold back words of encouragement and ecstasy, and I'm already writhing in Leonard's arms and feeling him grow harder against my back.

Spock's eyes are closed, the black wings of his brows matching the vee of my thighs, and as I watch he wraps his arms around my hips, holding me in place, and draws a slow, firm, wet circle over my clitoris, his fingers reaching to hold me open as he latches on and I try to buck and squirm and my mouth flies open in a howl as I come and come and come.

Doc is holding me tight against him and I can hear him muttering, "That's it...do it again...so fucking beautiful..." and Spock is licking and sucking and fingering and I lose any sense of time or recognition of where I am. I can feel him in my mind as well as on my body, and I think at first that I'm imagining it when he springs up and enters me, balls deep, one hard thrust and his climax hits. He and Doc and I almost bump heads, and when my vision clears we're all panting in each other's faces, Leonard cradling Spock's face in his hands as if it might fall.


End file.
